i 


/ 


THE    WORKS 

of 

RUDYARD 
KIPLING 


MINE   OWN   PEOPLE: 


THE   REGENT   PRESS 
NEW    YORK 


V 


CONTENTS 


PA3* 


Introduction —  * 

BlMI 21 

Namgay  Doola S3 

The  Recrudescence  of  Imray 55 

Moti  Guj — Mutineer  79 

The  Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks 95 

At  the  End  of  the  Passage 13 l 

The  Man  Who  Was 169 

A  Conference  of  the  Powers 199 

Without  Benefit  of  Clergy 227 

The  Mark  of  the  Beast 271 

The  Head  of  the  District 297 


MINE  OWN  PEOPLE 

4S4627 


INTRODUCTION 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  answer  the  general 
question  whether  the  books  of  the  world 
grow,  as  they  multiply,  as  much  better  as  one 
might  suppose  they  ought,  with  such  a  lesson 
of  wasteful  experiment  spread  perpetually  be- 
hind them.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that 
in  one  direction  we  profit  largely  by  this  educa- 
tion :  whether  or  not  we  have  become  wiser  to 
fashion,  we  have  certainly  become  keener  to 
enjoy.  We  have  acquired  the  sense  of  a  partic- 
ular quality  which  is  precious  beyond  all  others 
— so  precious  as  to  make  us  wonder  where,  at 
such  a  rate,  our  posterity  will  look  for  it,  and 
how  they  will  pay  for  it.  After  tasting  many 
essences  we  find  freshness  the  sweetest  of  all  /\ 
We  yearn  for  it,  we  watch  for  it  and  lie  in  wait 
for  it,  and  when  we  catch  it  on  the  wing  (it 
flits  by  so  fast)  we  celebrate  our  capture  with 
extravagance.  We  feel  that  after  so  much  has 
come  and  gone  it  is  more  and  more  of  a  feat  >; 
and  a  tour  de  force  to  be  fresh.  The  torment- 
ing part  of  the  phenomenon  is  that,  in  any  par- 

I 


2  INTRODUCTION 

ticular  key,  it  can  happen  but  once — by  a  sad 
failure  of  the  law  that  inculcates  the  repetition 
of  goodness.  It  is  terribly  a  matter  of  acci- 
dent; emulation  and  imitation  have  a  fatal  ef- 
fect upon  it.  It  is  easy  to  see,  therefore,  what 
importance  the  epicure  may  attach  to  the  brief 
moment  of  its  bloom.  While  that  lasts  we  all 
are  epicures. 

This  helps  to  explain,  I  think,  the  unmistak- 
able intensity  of  the  general  relish  for  Mr. 
Rudyard  Kipling.  His  bloom  lasts,  from 
month  to  month,  almost  surprisingly — by 
which  I  mean  that  he  has  not  worn  out  even  by 
active  exercise  the  particular  property  that 
made  us  all,  more  than  a  year  ago,  so  precipi  - 
tately  drop  everything  else  to  attend  to  him. 
He  has  many  others  which  he  will  doubtless 
always  keep ;  but  a  part  of  the  potency  attach- 
ing to  his  freshness,  what  makes  it  as  exciting 
as  a  drawing  of  lots,  is  our  instinctive  convic- 
tion that  he  cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
keep  that;  so  that  our  enjoyment  of  him,  so 
long  as  the  miracle  is  still  wrought,  has  both 
the  charm  of  confidence  and  the  charm  of  sus- 
pense. And  then  there  is  the  further  charm, 
with  Mr.  Kipling,  that  this  same  freshness  in 
such  a  very  strange  affair  of  its  kind  so  mixed 
and  various  and  cynical,  and,  in  certain  lights, 


INTRODUCTION  3 

so  contradictory  of  itself.  The  extreme  recent- 
ness  of  his  inspiration  is  as  enviable  as  the  tale 
is  startling  that  his  productions  tell  of  his  being 
at  home,  domesticated  and  initiated,  in  this 
wicked  and  weary  world.  At  times  he  strikes 
us  as  shockingly  precocious,  at  others  as  se- 
renely wise.  On  the  whole,  he  presents  himself 
as  a  strangely  clever  youth  who  has  stolen  the 
formidable  mask  of  maturity  and  rushes  about, 
making  people  jump  with  the  deep  sounds,  the 
sportive  exaggerations  of  tone,  that  issue  from 
its  painted  lips.  He  has  this  mark  of  a  real  vo- 
cation, that  different  spectators  may  like  him — 
must  like  him,  I  should  almost  say — for  differ- 
ent things;  and  this  refinement  of  attraction, 
that  to  those  who  reflect  even  upon  their  pleas- 
ures he  has  as  much  to  say  as  to  those  who 
never  reflect  upon  anything.  Indeed  there  is  a 
certain  amount  of  room  for  surprise  in  the  fact 
that,  being  so  much  the  sort  of  figure  that  the 
hardened  critic  likes  to  meet,  he  should  also  be 
the  sort  of  figure  that  inspires  the  multitude 
with  confidence — for  a  complicated  air  is,  in 
general,  the  last  thing  that  does  this. 

By  the  critic  who  likes  to  meet  such  a  brist- 
ling adventurer  as  Mr.  Kipling  I  mean  of 
course  the  critic  for  whom  the  happy  accident 
of  character,  whatever  form  it  may  take,  is 


4  INTRODUCTION 

more  of  a  bribe  to  interest  than  the  promise  of 
some  character  cherished  in  theory — the  ap- 
pearance of  justifying  some  foregone  conclu- 
sion as  to  what  a  writer  of  a  book  "ought,"  in 
the  Ruskinian  sense,  to  be ;  the  critic,  in  a  word, 
who  has,  a  priori,  no  rule  for  a  literary  produc- 
tion but  that  it  shall  have  genuine  life.  Such  a 
critic  (he  gets  much  more  out  of  his  opportuni- 
ties, I  think,  than  the  other  sort)  likes  a  writer 
exactly  in  proportion  as  he  is  a  challenge,  an 
appeal  to  interpretation,  intelligence,  ingenu- 
ity, to  what  is  elastic  in  the  critical  mind — in 
proportion  indeed  as  he  may  be  a  negation  of 
things  familiar  and  taken  for  granted.  He 
feels  in  this  case  how  much  more  play  and  ser- 
sation  there  is  for  himself. 

Mr.  Kipling,  then,  has  the  character  that  fur- 
nishes plenty  of  play  and  of  vicarious  experi- 
ence— that  makes  any  perceptive  reader  fore- 
see a  rare  luxury.  He  has  the  great  merit  of 
being  a  compact  and  convenient  illustration  of 
the  surest  source  of  interest  in  any  painter  of 
life — that  of  having  an  identity  as  marked  as  a 
window-frame.  He  is  one  of  the  illustrations, 
taken  near  at  hand,  that  help  to  clear  up  the 
vexed  question  in  the  novel  or  the  tale,  of 
kinds,  camps,  schools,  distinctions,  the  right 
way  and  the  wrong  way;  so  very  positively 


INTRODUCTION  5 

does  he  contribute  to  the  showing  that  there  are 
just  as  many  kinds,  as  many  ways,  as  many 
forms  and  degrees  of  the  "right,"  as  there  are 
personal  points  in  view.  It  is  the  blessing  of  the 
art  he  practices  that  it  is  made  up  of  experience 
conditioned,  infinitely,  in  this  personal  way — 
the  sum  of  the  feeling  of  life  as  reproduced 
by  innumerable  natures;  natures  that  feel 
through  all  their  differences,  testify  through 
their  diversities.  These  differences,  which 
make  the  identity,  are  of  the  individual;  they 
form  the  channel  by  which  life  flows  through 
him,  and  how  much  he  is  able  to  give  us  of  life 
— in  other  words,  how  much  he  appeals  to  us — 
depends  on  whether  they  form  it  solidly. 

This  hardness  of  the  conduit,  cemented  with 
a  rare  assurance,  is  perhaps  the  most  striking 
idiosyncrasy  of  Mr.  Kipling;  and  what  makes 
it  more  remarkable  is  that  accident  of  his  ex- 
treme youth  which,  if  we  talk  about  him  at  all, 
we  can  not  affect  to  ignore.  I  cannot  pretend 
to  give  a  biography  or  a  chronology  of  the  au- 
thor of  "Soldiers  Three,"  but  I  cannot  over- 
look the  general,  the  importunate  fact  that, 
confidently  as  he  has  caught  the  trick  and  habit 
of  this  sophisticated  world,  he  has  not  been 
long  of  it.  His  extreme  youth  is  indeed  what 
I  may  call  his  window-bar — the  support  on 


5  INTRODUCTION 

which  he   somewhat   rowdily  leans   while  he 
looks  down  at  the  human  scene  with  his  pipe  in 
his  teeth;  just  as  his  other  conditions  (to  men- 
tion only  some  of  them),  are  his  prodigious 
facility,  which  is  only  less  remarkable  than  his 
stiff  selection ;  his  unabashed  temperament,  his 
flexible  talent,  his  smoking-room  manner,  his 
familiar  friendship  with  India — established  so 
rapidly,  and  so  completely  under  his  control; 
his  delight  in  battle,  his  "cheek"  about  women 
— and  indeed  about  men  and  about  everything ; 
his  determination  not  to  be  duped,  his  "impe- 
rial" fibre,  his  love  of  the  inside  view,  the  pri- 
vate soldier  and  the  primitive  man.     I  must 
add  further  to  this  list  of  attractions  the  re- 
markable way  in  which  he  makes  us  aware  that 
he  has  been  put  up  to  the  whole  thing  directly 
by  life  (miraculously,  in  his  teens),  and  not 
by  the  communication  of  others.     These  ele- 
ments, and  many  more,  constitute  a  singularly 
robust  little  literary  character  (our  use  of  the 
diminutive  is  altogether  a  note  of  endearment 
and  enjoyment)  which,  if  it  has  the  rattle  of 
high  spirits  and  is  in  no  degree  apologetic  or 
shrinking,  yet  offers  a  very  liberal  pledge  in  the 
way  of  good  faith  and  immediate  performance. 
Mr.   Kipling's  performance  comes  off  before 
the    more    circumspect    have   time    to    decide 


INTRODUCTION  7 

whether  they  like  h'im  or  not,  and  if  you  have 
seen  it  once  you  will  be  sure  to  return  to  the 
show.  He  makes  us  prick  up  our  ears  to  the 
good  news  that  in  the  smoking-room  too  there 
may  be  artists ;  and  indeed  to  an  intimation  still 
more  refined — that  the  latest  development  of 
the  modern  also  may  be,  most  successfully,  for 
the  canny  artist  to  put  his  victim  off  his  guard 
by  imitating  the  amateur  (superficially,  of 
course)  to  the  life. 

These,  then,  are  some  of  the  reasons  why 
Mr.  Kipling  may  be  dear  to  the  analyst  as  well 
as,  M.  Renan  says,  to  the  simple.  The  simple 
may  like  him  because  he  is  wonderful  about  In- 
dia, and  India  has  not  been  "done" ;  while  there 
is  plenty  left  for  the  morbid  reader  in  the  sur- 
prises of  his  skill  and  the  Horiture  of  his  form, 
whLh  are  so  oddly  independent  of  any  distinc- 
tively literary  note  in  him,  any  bookish  associa- 
tion. It  is  as  one  of  the  morbid  that  the  writer 
of  these  remarks  (which  doubtless  only  too 
shamefully  betray  his  character)  exposes  him- 
self as  most  consentingly  under  the  spell.  The 
freshness  arising  from  a  subject  that — by  a 
good  fortune  I  do  not  mean  to  under-estimate 
— has  never  been  "done,"  is  after  all  less  of  an 
affair  to  build  upon  than  the  freshness  residing 
in  the  temper  of  the  artist.     Happy  indeed  is 


8  INTRODUCTION 

Mr.  Kipling,  who  can  command  so  much  of 
both  kinds.  It  is  still  as  one  of  the  morbid,  no 
doubt — that  is,  as  one  of  those  who  are  capable 
of  sitting  up  all  night  for  a  new  impression  of 
talent,  of  scouring  the  trodden  field  for  one  lit- 
tle spot  of  green — that  I  find  our  young  author 
quite  most  curious  in  his  air,  and  not  only  in  his 
air,  but  in  his  evidently  very  real  sense,  of 
knowing  his  way  about  life.  Curious  in  the 
highest  degree  and  well  worth  attention  is  such 
an  idiosyncrasy  as  this  in  a  young  Anglo-Sax- 
on. We  meet  it  with  familiar  frequency  in  the 
budding  talents  of  France,  and  it  startles  and 
haunts  us  for  an  hour.  After  an  hour,  how- 
ever, the  mystery  is  apt  to  fade,  for  we  find  that 
the  wondrous  initiation  is  not  in  the  least  gen- 
eral, is  only  exceedingly  special,  and  is,  even 
with  this  limitation,  very  often  rather  conven- 
tional. In  a  word,  it  is  with  the  ladies  that  the 
young  Frenchman  takes  his  ease,  and  more 
particularly  with  ladies  selected  expressly  to 
make  this  attitude  convincing.  When  they 
have  let  him  off,  the  dimnesses  too  often  en- 
compass him.  But  for  Mr.  Kipling  there  are 
no  dimnesses  anywhere,  and  if  the  ladies  are 
indeed  violently  distinct  they  are  not  only 
strong  notes  in  a  universal  loudness.  This 
loudness  fills  the  ears  of  Mr.  Kipling's  admir- 


INTRODUCTION  9 

ers  (it  lacks  sweetness,  no  doubt,  for  those 
who  are  not  of  the  number),  and  there  is  really 
only  one  strain  that  is  absent  from  it — the 
voice,  as  it  were,  of  the  civilized  man ;  in  whom 
I  of  course  also  include  the  civilized  woman. 
But  this  is  an  element  that  for  the  present  one 
does  not  miss — every  other  note  is  so  articulate 
and  direct. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  satisfaction  the  author 
gives  us  that  he  can  make  us  speculate  as  to 
whether  he  will  be  able  to  complete  his  picture 
altogether  (this  is  as  far  as  we  presume  to  go 
in  meddling  with  the  question  of  his  future) 
without  bringing  in  the  complicated  soul.  On 
the  day  he  does  so,  if  he  handles  it  with  any- 
thing like  the  cleverness  he  has  already  shown, 
the  expectation  of  his  friends  will  take  a  great 
bound.  Meanwhile,  at  any  rate,  we  have  Mul- 
vaney,  and  Mulvaney  is  after  all  tolerably  com- 
plicated. He  is  only  a  six-foot  saturated  Irish 
private,  but  he  is  a  considerable  pledge  of  more 
to  come.  Hasn't  he,  for  that  matter,  the  tongue 
of  a  hoarse  siren,  and  hasn't  he  also  mysteries 
and  infinitudes  almost  Carlylese?  Since  I  am 
speaking  of  him  I  may  as  well  say  that,  as  an 
evocation,  he  has  probably  led  captive  those  of 
Mr.  Kipling's  readers  who  have  most  given  up 
resistance.    He  is  a  piece  of  portraiture  of  the 


io  INTRODUCTION 

largest,  vividest  kind,  growing  and  growing  on 
the  painter's  hands  without  ever  outgrowing 
them.  I  can't  help  regarding  him,  in  a  certain 
sense,  as  Mr.  Kipling's  tutelary  deity —  a  land- 
mark in  the  direction  in  which  it  is  open  to  him 
to  look  furthest.  If  the  author  will  only  go  as 
far  in  this  direction  as  Mulvaney  is  capable  of 
taking  him,  (and  the  inimitable  Irishman  is, 
like  Voltaire's  Habakkuk,  capable  de  tout),  he 
may  still  discover  a  treasure  and  find  a  reward 
for  the  services  he  has  rendered  the  winner  of 
Dinah  Shadd.  I  hasten  to  add  that  the  truly 
appreciative  reader  should  surely  have  no  quar- 
rel with  the  primitive  element  in  Mr.  Kipling's 
subject-matter,  or  with  what,  for  want  of  a 
better  name,  I  may  call  his  love  of  low  life. 
What  is  that  but  essentially  a  part  of  his  fresh- 
ness ?  And  for  what  part  of  his  freshness  are 
we  exactly  more  thankful  than  for  just  this 
smart  jostle  that  he  gives  the  old  stupid  super- 
stition that  the  amiability  of  a  story-teller  is  the 
amiability  of  the  people  he  represents — that 
their  vulgarity,  or  depravity,  or  gentility,  or 
fatuity  are  tantamount  to  the  same  qualities  in 
the  painter  itself?  A  blow  from  which,  appar- 
ently, it  will  not  easily  recover  is  dealt  this  in- 
fantine philosophy  by  Mr.  Howells  when,  with 
the  most  distinguished  dexterity  and  all  the  de- 


INTRODUCTION  n 

tachment  of  a  master,  he  handles  some  of  the 
clumsiest,  crudest,  most  human  things  in  life — 
answering  surely  thereby  the  play-goers  in  the 
sixpenny  gallery  who  howl  at  the  representa- 
tive of  the  villain  when  he  comes  before  the 
curtain. 

Nothing  is_more  refreshing  than  this  active, 
disinterested  sense  of  the  real;  it  is  doubtless 
the  quality  for  the  want  of  more  of  which  our 
English  and  American  fiction  has  turned  so  wo- 
fully  stale.  We  are  ridden  by  the  old  conven- 
tionalities of  type  and  small  proprieties  of  ob- 
servance—by the  foolish  baby_-formula  (to  put 
it  sketchily)  of  the  picture  and  the  subject.  Mr. 
Kipling  has  all  the  air  of  being  disposed  to  lift 
the  whole  business  off  the  nursery  carpet,  and 
of  being  perhaps  even  more  able  than  he  is  dis- 
posed. One  must  hasten  of  course  to  parenthe- 
size that  there  is  not,  intrinsically,  a  bit  more 
luminosity  in  treating  of  low  life  and  of  primi- 
tive man  than  of  those  whom  civilization  has 
kneaded  to  a  finer  paste ;  the  only  luminosity  in 
either  case  is  in  the  intelligence  with  which  the 
thing  is  done.  But  it  so  happens  that,  among 
ourselves,  the  frank,  capable  outlook,  when 
*umed  upon  the  vulgar  majority,  the  coarse,  re- 
ceding edges  of  the  sociaf  perspective,  borrows 
a  charm  from  being  new ;  such  a  charm  as,  for 


12  INTRODUCTION 

instance,  repetition  has  already  despoiled  it  of 
among  the  French — the  hapless  French  who 
pay  the  penalty  as  well  as  enjoy  the  glow  of 
living  intellectually  so  much  faster  than  we.  It 
is  the  most  inexorable  part  of  our  fate  that  we 
grow  tired  of  everything,  and  of  course  in  due 
time  we  may  grow  tired  even  of  what  explorers 
shall  come  back  to  tell  us  about  the  great  grimy 
condition,  or,  with  unprecedented  items  and  de- 
tails, about  the  grey  middle  state  which  darkens 
into  it.  But  the  explorers,  bless  them!  may 
have  a  long  day  before  that ;  it  is  earlv  to  trou- 
ble about  reactions,  so  that  we  mast  give 
them  the  benefit  of  every  presumption.  We  are 
thankful  for  any  boldness  and  any  sharp  curi- 
osity, and  that  is  why  we  are  thankful  for  Mr. 
Kipling's  general  spirit  and  for  most  of  his  ex- 
cursions. 

Many  of  these,  certainly,  are  into  a  region 
not  to  be  designated  as  superficially  dim, 
though  indeed  the  author  always  reminds  us 
that  India  is  above  all  the  land  of  mystery.  A 
large  part  of  his  high  spirits,  and  of  ours, 
comes  doubtless  from  the  amusement  of  such 
vivid,  heterogeneous  material,  from  the  irre- 
sistible magic  of  scorching  suns,  subject  em- 
pires, uncanny  religions,  uneasy  garrisons  and 
smothered-up  women — from    heat    and    color 


INTRODUCTION  13 

and  danger  and  dust.  India  is  a  portentous  mP\ 
age,  and  we  are  duly  awed  by  the  familiarities 
it  undergoes  at  Mr.  Kipling's  hand  and  by  the 
fine  impunity,  the  sort  of  fortune  that  favors 
the  brave,  of  his  want  of  awe.  An  abject  hu- 
mility is  not  his  strong  point,  but  he  gives  us 
something  instead  of  it — vividness  and  droll- 
ery, the  vision  and  the  thrill  of  many  things, 
the  misery  and  strangeness  of  most,  the  per- 
sonal sense  of  a  hundred  queer  contacts  and 
risks.  And  then  in  the  absence  of  respect  he 
has  plenty  of  knowledge,  and  if  knowledge 
should  fail  him  he  would  have  plenty  of  inven- 
tion. Moreover,  if  invention  should  ever  fail 
him,  he  would  still  have  the  lyric  string  and 
the  patriotic  chord,  on  which  he  plays  admi- 
rably ;  so  that  it  may  be  said  he  is  a  man  of  re- 
sources. What  he  gives  us,  above  all,  is  the 
feeling  of  the  English  manner  and  the  English 
blood  in  conditions  they  have  made  at  once  so 
much  and  so  little  their  own;  with  manifesta- 
tions grotesque  enough  in  some  of  his  satiric 
sketches  and  deeply  impressive  in  some  of  his 
anecdotes  of  individual  responsibility. 

His  Indian  impressions  divide  themselves  in- 
to three  groups,  one  of  which,  I  think,  very 
much  outshines  the  others.  First  to  be  men- 
tioned are  the  tales    of    native    life,    curious 


X 


^ 


14  INTRODUCTION 

glimpses  of  custom  and  superstition,  dusky 
matters  not  beholden  of  the  many,  for  which 
the  author  has  a  remarkable  Hair.  Then  comes 
the  social,  the  Anglo-Indian  episode,  the  study 
of  administrative  and  military  types,  and  of 
the  wonderful  rattling,  riding  ladies  who,  at 
Simla  and  more  desperate  stations,  look  out  for 
husbands  and  lovers ;  often,  it  would  seem,  and 
husbands  and  lovers  of  others.  The  most  bril- 
liant group  is  devoted  wholly  to  the  common 
soldier,  and  of  this  series  it  appears  to  me  that 
too  much  goc  1  is  hardly  to  be  said.  Here  Mr. 
Kipling,  with  all  his  ofT-handedness,  is  a  mas- 
ter ;  for  we  are  held  not  so  much  by  the  greater 
or  less  oddity  of  the  particular  yarn — some- 
times fc  is  scarcely  a  yarn  at  all,  but  something 
much  less  artificial — as  by  the  robust  attitude 
of  the  narrator,  who  never  arranges  or  glosses 
or  falsifies,  but  makes  straight  for  the  common 
and  the  characteristic.  I  have  mentioned  the 
great  esteem  in  which  I  hold  Mulvaney — surely 
a  charming  man  and  one  qualified  to  adorn  a 
higher  sphere.  Mulvaney  is  a  creation  to  be 
proud  of,  and  his  two  comrades  stand  as  firm 
on  their  legs.  In  spite  of  Mulvaney 's  social 
possibilities,  they  are  all  three  finished  brutes; 
but  it  is  precisely  in  the  finish  that  we  delight. 
Whatever  Mr.  Kipling  may  relate  about  them 


INTRODUCTION  15 

forever  will  encounter   readers  equally  fasci- 
nated and  unable  fully  to  justify  their  faith. 

Are  not  those  literary  pleasures  after  all  the 
most  intense  which  are  the  most  perverse  and 
whimsical,  and  even  indefensible?    There  is  a 
logic  in  them  somewhere,  but  it  often  lies  be- 
low the  plummet  of  criticism.     The  spell  may 
be  weak  in  a  writer  who  has  every  reasonable 
and  regular  claim,  and  it  may  be  irresistible  in 
one  who  presents  himself  with  a  style  corres- 
ponding to  a  bad  hat.     A  good  hat  is  better 
than  a  bad  one,  but  a  conjurer  may  wear  either. 
Many  a  reader  will  never  be  able  to  say  what 
secret  human   force  lavs  its  hand  upon  him 
when  Private  Ortheris,  having  sworn  "quietly 
into  the  blue  sky,"  goes  mad  with  homesick- 
ness by  the  yellow  river  and  raves  for  the  bas- 
est sights  and  sounds  of  London.    I  can  scarce- 
ly tell  why  I  think  "The  Courting  of  Dinah 
Shadd"  a  masterpiece  (though,  indeed,  I  can  S 
make  a  shrewd  guess  at  one  of  the  reasons), 
nor  would  it  be  worth  while  perhaps  to  attempt 
to  defend  the  same  pretension  in  regard  to  "On 
Greenhow  Hill" — much  less  to  trouble  the  tol- 
erant reader  of  these  remarks  with  a  statement 
of  how  many  more  performances  in  the  nature 
of  "The  End  of  the  Passage"  (quite  admitting 
even  that  they  might  not  represent  Mr.  Kip- 


i 6  INTRODUCTION 

ling  at  his  best)  I  am  conscious  of  a  latent  rel- 
ish for.  One  might  as  well  admit  while  one  is 
about  it  that  one  has  wept  profusely  over  "The 
Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft,"  the  history  of  the 
"Dutch  courage"  of  two  dreadful  dirty  little 
boys,  who,  in  the  face  of  Afghans  scarcely 
more  dreadful,  saved  the  reputation  of  their 
regiment  and  perished,  the  least  mawkishly  in 
the  world,  in  a  squalor  of  battle  incomparably 
expressed.  People  who  know  how  peaceful 
they  are  themselves  and  have  no  bloodshed  to 
reproach  themselves  with  needn't  scruple  to 
mention  the  glamor  that  Mr.  Kipling's  intense 
militarism  has  for  them,  and  how  astonishing 
and  contagious  they  find  it,  in  spite  of  the  un- 
romantic  complexion  of  it — the  way  it  bristles 
with  all  sorts  of  ugliness  and  technicalities. 
Perhaps  that  is  why  I  go  all  the  way  even  with 
"The  Gadsbys" — the  Gadsbys  were  so  con- 
nected (uncomfortably,  it  is  true)  with  the 
army.  There  is  fearful  fighting — or  a  fearful 
danger  of  it — in  "The  Man  Who  Would  be 
King";  is  that  the  reason  we  are  deeply  af- 
fected by  this  extraordinary  tale  ?  It  is  one  of 
them,  doubtless,  for  Mr.  Kipling  has  many  rea- 
sons, after  all,  on  his  side,  though  they  don't 
equally  call  aloud  to  be  uttered. 

One  more  of  them,  at  any  rate,  I  must  add  to 


INTRODUCTION  ir 

these  unsystematized  remarks — it  is  the  one 
I  spoke  of  a  shrewd  guess  at  in  alluding  to 
"The  Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd."  The  talent 
that  produces  such  a  tale  is  a  talent  eminently 
in  harmony  with  the  short  story,  and  the  short 
story  is,  on  our  side  of  the  Channel  and  of  the 
Atlantic,  a  mine  which  will  take  a  great  deal  of 
working.  Admirable  is  the  clearness  with 
which  Mr.  Kipling  perceives  this — perceives 
what  innumerable  chances  it  gives,  chances  of 
touching  life  in  a  thousand  different  places, 
taking  it  up  in  innumerable  pieces,  each  a  speci- 
men and  an  illustration.  In  a  word,  he  appre- 
ciates the  episode,  and  there  are  signs  to  show 
that  this  shrewdness  will,  in  general,  have  long 
innings.  It  will  find  the  detachable,  compres- 
sible "case"  an  admirable,  flexible  form;  the 
cultivation  of  which  may  well  add  to  the  mis- 
trust already  entertained  by  Mr.  Kipling,  if  his 
manner  does  not  betray  him,  for  what  is 
clumsy  and  tasteless  in  the  time-honored  prac- 
tice of  the  "plot."  It  will  fortfy  him  in  the 
conviction  that  the  vivid  picture  has  a  greater 
communicative  value  than  the  Chinese  puzzle. 
There  is  little  enough  "plot"  in  such  a  perfect 
little  piece  of  hard  representation  as  "The  end 
of  the  Passage,"  to  cite  again  only  the  most 
salient  of  twenty  examples. 


18  INTRODUCTION 

But  I  am  speaking  of  our  author's  future, 
which  is  the  luxury  that  I  mean  to  forbid  my- 
self— precisely  because  the  subject  is  so  tempt- 
ing. There  is  nothing  in  the  world  (for  the 
prophet)  so  charming  as  to  prophesy,  and  as 
there  is  nothing  so  inconclusive  the  tendency 
should  be  repressed  in  proportion  as  the  oppor- 
tunity is  good.  There  is  a  certain  want  of  cour- 
tesy to  a  peculiarly  contemporaneous  present 
even  in  speculating,  with  a  dozen  differential 
precautions,  on  the  question  of  what  will  be- 
come in  the  later  hours  of  the  day  of  a  talent 
that  has  got  up  so  early.  Mr.  Kipling's  actual 
performance  is  like  a  tremendous  walk  before 
breakfast,  making  one  welcome  the  idea  of  the 
meal,  but  consider  with  some  alarm  the  hours 
still  to  be  traversed.  Yet  if  his  breakfast  is 
all  to  come,  the  indications  are  that  he  will  be 
more  active  than  ever  after  he  has  had  it. 
Among  these  indications  are  the  unflagging 
character  of  his  pace  and  the  excellent  form, 
as  they  say  in  athletic  circles,  in  which  he  gets 
over  the  ground.  We  don't  detect  him  stum- 
bling; on  the  contrary,  he  steps  out  quite  as 
briskly  as  at  first,  and  still  more  firmly.  There 
is  something  zealous  and  craftsman-like  in  him 
which  r1iows  that  he  feels  both  joy  and  respon- 
sibility.   A  whimsical,  wanton  reader,  haunted 


INTRODUCTION  19 

by  a  recollection  of  all  the  good  things  he  has 
seen  spoiled ;  by  a  sense  of  the  miserable,  or,  at 
any  rate,  the  inferior,  so  many  continuations 
and  endings,  is  almost  capable  of  perverting 
poetic  justice  to  the  idea  that  it  would  be  even 
positively  well  for  so  surprising  a  producer  to 
remain  simply  the  fortunate  suggestive,  uncon- 
firmed and  unqualified  representative  of  what 
he  has  actually  done.  We  can  always  refer  to 
that. 

Henry  James. 


BIMI 

THE  orang-outang  in  the  big  iron  cage 
lashed  to  the  sheep-pen  began  the  dis- 
cussion. The  night  was  stifling  hot,  and  as 
Hans  Breitmann  and  I  passed  him,  dragging 
our  bedding  to  the  fore-peak  of  the  steamer, 
he  roused  himself  and  chattered  obscenely. 
He  had  been  caught  somewhere  in  the  Malayan 
Archipelago,  and  was  going  to  England  to  be 
exhibited  at  a  shilling  a  head.  For  four  days 
he  had  struggled,  yelled,  and  wrenched  at  the 
heavy  iron  bars  of  his  prison  without  ceasing, 
and  had  nearly  slain  a  Lascar  incautious 
enough  to  come  within  reach  of  the  great  hairy 
paw. 

"It  would  be  well  for  you,  mine  friend,  if 
you  was  a  liddle  seasick,"  said  Hans  Breit- 
mann, pausing  by  the  cage.  "You  haf  too 
much  Ego  in  your  Cosmos." 

The  orang-outang's  arm  slid  out  negligently 
from  between  the  bars.  No  one  would  have 
believed  that  it  would  make  a  sudden  snake- 

23 


24  BIMI 

like  rush  at  the  German's  breast.  The  thin 
silk  of  the  sleeping-suit  tore  out ;  Hans  stepped 
back  unconcernedly,  to  pluck  a  banana  from  a 
bunch  hanging  close  to  one  of  the  boats. 

"Too  much  Ego,"  said  he,  peeling  the  fruit 
and  offering  it  to  the  caged  devil,  who  was 
rending  the  silk  to  tatters. 

Then  we  laid  out  our  bedding  in  the  bows, 
among  the  sleeping  Lascars,  to  catch  any  breeze 
that  the  pace  of  the  ship  might  give  us.  The 
sea  was  like  smoky  oil,  except  where  it  turned 
to  fire  under  our  forefoot  and  whirled  back 
into  the  dark  in  smears  of  dull  flame.  There 
was  a  thunderstorm  some  miles  way ;  we  could 
see  the  glimmer  of  the  lightning.  The  ship's 
cow,  distressed  by  the  heat  and  the  smell  of 
the  ape-beast  in  the  cage,  lowed  unhappily  from 
time  to  time  in  exactly  the  same  key  as  the 
lookout  man  at  the  bows  answered  the  hourly 
call  from  the  bridge.  The  trampling  tune  of 
the  engines  was  very  distinct,  and  the  jarring 
of  the  ash-lift,  as  it  was  tipped  into  the  sea, 
hurt  the  procession  of  hushed  noise.  Hans  lay 
down  by  my  side  and  lighted  a  good-night 
cigar.  This  was  naturally  the  beginning  of 
conversation.  He  owned  a  voice  as  soothing 
as  the  wash  of  the  sea,  and  stores  of  experi- 
ences as  vast  as  the  sea  itself ;  for  his  business 


BIMI  25 

in  life  was  to  wander  up  and  down  the  world, 
collecting  orchids  and  wild  beasts  and  ethno- 
logical specimens  for  German  and  American 
dealers.  I  watched  the  glowing  end  of  his 
cigar  wax  and  wane  in  the  gloom,  as  the  sen- 
tences rose  and  fell,  till  I  was  nearly  asleep. 
The  orang-outang,  troubled  by  some  dream  of 
the  forests  of  his  freedom,  began  to  yell  like 
a  soul  in  purgatory,  and  to  wrench  madly  at 
the  bars  of  the  cage. 

"If  he  was  out  now  dere  would  not  be  much 
of  us  left  hereabouts,"  said  Hans,  lazily.  "He 
screams  good.  See,  now,  how  I  shall  tame 
him  when  he  stops  himself." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  outcry,  and  from 
Hans'  mouth  came  an  imitation  of  a  snake's 
hiss,  so  perfect  that  I  almost  sprung  to  my  feet. 
The  sustained  murderous  sound  ran  along  the 
deck,  and  the  wrenching  at  the  bars  ceased. 
The  orang-outang  was  quaking  in  an  ecstasy 
of  pure  terror 

"Dot  stop  him,"  said  Hans.  "I  learned  dot- 
trick  in  Mogoung  Tanjong  when  I  was  collect- 
ing liddle  monkeys  for  some  peoples  in  Berlin. 
Efery  one  in  der  world  is  afraid  of  der  mon- 
keys— except  der  snake.  So  I  blay  snake 
against  monkey,  and  he  keep  quite  still.  Dere 
was  too  much  Ego  in  his  Cosmos.     Dot  is  der 


26  BIMI 

soul-custom  of  monkeys.  Are  you  asleep,  or 
will  you  listen,  and  I  will  tell  a  dale  dot  you 
shall  not  pelief  ?" 

"There's  no  tale  in  the  wide  world  that  I 
can't  believe,"  I  said. 

"If  you  have  learned  pelief  you  haf  learned 
somedings.  Now  I  shall  try  your  pelief. 
Good!  When  I  was  collecting  dose  liddle 
monkeys — it  was  in  '79  or  '80,  und  I  was  in  der 
islands  of  der  Archipelago — over  dere  in  der 
dark" — he  pointed  southward  to  New  Guinea 
generally — "Mein  Gott !  I  would  sooner  col- 
lect life  red  devils  than  liddle  monkeys.  When 
dey  do  not  bite  off  your  thumbs  dey  are  always 
dying  from  nostalgia — homesick — for  dey  haf 
der  imperfect  soul,  which  is  midway  arrested  in 
defelopment — und  too  much  Ego.  I  was  dere 
for  nearly  a  year,  und  dere  I  found  a  man 
dot  was  called  Bertram  He  was  a  French- 
man, und  he  was  a  goot  man — naturalist  to  the 
bone.  Dey  said  he  was  an  esc^^ed  convict,  but 
he  was  a  naturalist,  und  dot  was  enough  for 
me.  He  would  call  all  her  life  beasts  from  der 
forest,  und  dey  would  come.  I  said  he  was 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi  in  a  new  dransmigration 
produced,  und  he  laughed  und  said  he  haf  never 
preach  to  der  fishes.  He  sold  dem  for  tripang 
— beche-de-mer. 


BIMI  27 

"Und  dot  man,  who  was  king  of  beasts-tamer 
men,  he  had  in  der  house  shush  such  anoder  as 
dot  devil-animal  in  der  cage — a  great  orang- 
outang dot  thought  he  was  a  man.  He  haf 
found  him  when  he  was  a  child — der  orang-ou- 
tang— und  he  was  child  and  brother  and  opera 
comique  all  round  to  Bertran.  He  had  his 
room  in  dot  house — not  a  cage,  but  a  room — 
mit  a  bed  and  sheets,  and  he  would  go  to  bed 
and  get  up  in  der  morning  and  smoke  his  cigar 
und  eat  his  dinner  mit  Bertran,  und  walk  mit 
him  hand-in-hand,  which  was  most  horrible. 
Herr  Gott!  I  haf  seen  dot  beast  throw  him- 
self back  in  his  chair  and  laugh  when  Bertran 
haf  made  fun  of  me.  He  was  not  a  beast;  he 
was  a  man,  and  he  talked  to  Bertran,  und  Ber- 
tran comprehended,  for  I  have  seen  dem.  Und 
he  was  always  politeful  to  me  except  when  I 
talk  too  long  to  Bertran  und  say  nodings  at  all 
to  him.  Den  he  would  pull  me  away — dis 
great,  dark  devil,  mit  his  enormous  paws — 
shush  as  if  I  was  a  child.  He  was  not  a  beast, 
he  was  a  man.  Dis  I  saw  pefore  I  know  him 
three  months,  und  Bertran  he  haf  saw  the 
same;  and  Bimi,  der  orang-outang,  haf  under- 
stood us  both,  mit  his  cigar  between  his  big- 
dog  teeth  und  der  blue  gum. 

"I  was  dere  a  year,  dere  und  at  dere  oder 


28  BIMI 

islands — somedimes  for  monkeys  and  some- 
dimes  for  butterflies  und  orchits.  One  time 
Bertran  says  to  me  dot  he  will  be  married,  be- 
cause he  haf  found  a  girl  dot  was  good,  and 
he  inquire  if  this  marrying  idea  was  right.  I 
would  not  say,  pecause  it  was  not  me  dot  was 
going  to  be  married.  Den  he  go  off  courting 
der  girl — she  was  a  half-caste  French  girl — 
very  pretty.  Haf  you  got  a  new  light  for  my 
cigar?  Oof!  Very  pretty.  Only  I  say: 
'Haf  you  thought  of  Bimi?  If  he  pulls  me 
away  when  I  talk  to  you,  what  will  he  do  to 
your  wife?  He  will  pull  her  in  pieces.  If  I 
was  you,  Bertran,  I  would  gif  my  wife  for  wed- 
ding present  der  stuff  figure  of  Bimi.'  By  dot 
time  I  had  learned  somedings  about  der  mon- 
key peoples.  'Shoot  him?'  says  Bertran.  'He 
is  your  beast/  I  said;  'if  he  was  mine  he  would 
be  shot  now.' 

"Den  I  felt  at  der  back  of  my  neck  der  fin- 
gers of  Bimi.  Mein  Gott!  I  tell  you  dot  he 
talked  through  dose  fingers.  It  was  der  deaf- 
and-dumb  alphabet  all  gomplete.  He  slide  his 
hairy  arm  round  my  neck,  and  he  tilt  up  my 
chin  und  look  into  my  face,  shust  to  see  if 
I  understood  his  talk  so  well  as  he  understood 


mine. 

n  t 


See  now  dere!'  says  Bertran,  'und  you 


BIMI  29 

would  shoot  him  while  he  is  cuddling  you  ?  Dot 
is  der  Teuton  ingrate !' 

"But  I  knew  dot  I  had  made  Bimi  a  life's  en- 
emy, pecause  his  fingers  haf  talk  murder 
through  the  back  of  my  neck.  Next  dime  I 
see  Bimi  dere  was  a  pistol  in  my  belt,  und  he 
touch  it  once,  and  I  open  der  breech  to  show 
him  it  was  loaded.  He  haf  seen  der  liddle 
monkeys  killed  in  der  woods,  and  he  under- 
stood. 

"So  Bertran  he  was  married,  and  he  forgot 
clean  about  Bimi  dot  was  skippin'  alone  on  der 
beach  mit  her  haf  of  a  human  soul  in  his  belly. 
I  was  see  him  skip,  und  he  took  a  big  bough 
und  thrash  der  sand  till  he  haf  made  a  great 
hole  like  a  grave.  So  I  says  to  Bertran :  Tor 
any  sakes,  kill  Bimi.  He  is  mad  mit  der  jeal- 
ousy/ 

"Bertran  haf  said:  'He  is  not  mad  at  all. 
He  haf  obey  and  love  my  wife,  und  if  she 
speaks  he  will  get  her  slippers,'  und  he  looked 
at  his  wife  across  der  room.  She  was  a  very 
pretty  girl. 

"Den  I  said  to  him :  'Dost  thou  pretend  to 
know  monkeys  und  dis  beast  dot  is  lashing  him- 
self mad  upon  der  sands,  pecause  you  do  not 
talk  to  him  ?  Shoot  him  when  he  comes  to  der 
house,  for  he  haf  der  light  in  his  eyes  dot  means 


SO  BIMI 

killing — und  killing. '  Bimi  come  to  der  house, 
but  dere  was  no  light  in  his  eyes.  It  was  all 
put  away,  cunning — so  cunning — und  he  fetch 
der  girl  her  slippers,  and  Bertran  turn  to  me 
und  say :  'Dost  thou  know  him  in  nine  months 
more  dan  I  haf  known  him  in  twelve  years? 
Shall  a  child  stab  his  fader?  I  have  fed  him, 
und  he  was  my  child.  Do  not  speak  this  non- 
sense to  my  wife  or  to  me  any  more/ 

"Dot  next  day  Bertran  came  to  my  house  to 
help  me  make  some  wood  cases  for  der  speci- 
mens, und  he  tell  me  dot  he  haf  left  his  wife  a 
liddle  while  mit  Bimi  in  der  garden.  Den  I 
finish  my  cases  quick,  und  I  say  :  'Let  us  go 
to  your  house  und  get  a  trink.'  He  laugh  and 
say  :  'Come  along,  dry  mans.' 

"His  wife  was  not  in  der  garden,  und  Bimi 
did  not  come  when  Bertran  called.  Und  his 
wife  did  not  come  when  he  called,  und  he 
knocked  at  her  bedroom  door  und  dot  was 
shut  tight — locked.  Den  he  look  at  me,  und 
his  face  was  white.  I  broke  down  the  door 
mit  my  shoulder,  und  der  thatch  of  der  roof 
was  torn  into  a  great  hole,  und  der  sun  came 
in  upon  der  floor.  Haf  you  ever  seen  paper 
in  der  waste-basket,  or  cards  at  whist  on  der 
table  scattered?  Dere  was  no  wife  dot  could 
be  seen.  I  tell  you  dere  was  noddings  in  dot 
room  dot  might  be  a  woman.     Dere  was  stuff 


BIMI  31 

on  der  floor,  und  dot  was  all.  I  looked  at  dese 
things  und  I  was  very  sick ;  but  Bertran  looked 
a  little  longer  at  what  was  upon  the  floor  und 
der  walls,  und  der  hole  in  der  thatch.  Den  he 
pegan  to  laugh,  soft  and  low,  und  I  knew  und 
thank  Got  dot  he  was  mad.  He  nefer  cried, 
he  nefer  prayed.  He  stood  still  in  der  door- 
way und  laugh  to  himself.  Den  he  said :  'She 
haf  locked  herself  in  dis  room,  and  he  haf  torn 
up  der  thatch.  Fi  done.  Dot  is  so.  We  will 
mend  der  thatch  und  wait  for  Bimi.  He  will 
surely  come.' 

"I  tell  you  we  waited  ten  days  in  dot  house, 
after  der  room  was  made  into  a  room  again, 
and  once  or  twice  we  saw  Bimi  comin'  a  liddle 
way  from  der  woods.  He  was  afraid  pecause 
he  haf  done  wrong.  Bertran  called  him  when 
he  was  come  to  look  on  the  tenth  day,  und 
Bimi  come  skipping  along  der  beach  und  mak- 
ing noises,  mit  a  long  piece  of  black  hair  in  his 
hands.  Den  Bertran  laugh  and  say,  (Fi  done!' 
shust  as  if  it  was  a  glass  broken  upon  der 
table;  und  Bimi  come  nearer,  und  Bertran 
was  honey-sweet  in  his  voice  and  laughed  to 
himself.  For  three  days  he  made  love  to 
Bimi,  pecause  Bimi  would  not  let  himself  be 
touched.  Den  Bimi  come  to  dinner  at  der 
same  table  mit  us,  und  der  hair  on  his  hands 
was  all  black  und  thick  mit — mit  what  had 


$2  BIMI 

dried  on  his  hands.  Bertran  gave  him  sanga- 
ree  till  Birni  was  drunk  and  stupid,  und  den — " 

Hans  paused  to  puff  at  his  cigar. 

"And  then?"  said  I. 

"Und  den  Bertran  kill  him  with  his  hands, 
und  I  go  for  a  walk  upon  der  beach.  It  was 
Bertran's  own  piziness.  When  I  come  back 
der  ape  he  was  dead,  und  Bertran  was  dying 
abofe  him ;  but  still  he  laughed  a  little  und  low, 
and  he  was  quite  content.  Now  you  know  der 
formula  uf  der  strength  of  der  orang-outang 
— it  is  more  as  seven  to  one  in  relation  to  man. 
But  Bertran,  he  haf  killed  Bimi  mit  sooch 
dings  as  Gott  gif  him.  Dot  was  der  mer- 
icle." 

The  infernal  clamor  in  the  cage  recom- 
menced. "Aha!  Dot  friend  of  ours  haf  still 
too  much  Ego  in  his  Cosmos.  Be  quiet, 
thou!" 

Hans  hissed  long  and  venomously.  We 
could  hear  the  great  beast  quaking  in  his  cage. 

"But  why  in  the  world  didn't  you  help  Ber- 
tran instead  of  letting  him  be  killed  ?"  I  asked. 

"My  friend,"  said  Hans,  composedly 
stretching  himself  to  slumber,  "it  was  not  nice 
even  to  mineself  dot  I  should  lif  after  I  had 
seen  dot  room  wit  der  hole  in  der  thatch. 
Und  Bertran,  he  was  her  husband.  Goot- 
night,  und  sleep  well." 


NAMGAY  DOOLA 


NAMGAY  DOOLA 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  who 
lived  on  the  road  to  Thibet,  very  many 
miles  in  the  Himalaya  Mountains.  His  king- 
dom was  11,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  ex- 
actly four  miles  square,  but  most  of  the  miles 
stood  on  end,  owing  to  the  nature  of  the  coun- 
try. His  revenues  were  rather  less  than  £400 
yearly,  and  they  were  expended  on  the  mainte- 
nance of  one  elephant  and  a  standing  army  of 
five  men.  He  was  tributary  to  the  Indian  gov- 
ernment, who  allowed  him  certain  sums  for 
keeping  a  section  of  the  Himalaya-Tibet  road 
in  repair.  He  further  increased  his  revenues  by 
selling  timber  to  the  railway  companies,  for  he 
would  cut  the  great  deodar  trees  in  his  own 
forest  and  they  fell  thundering  into  the  Sutlej 
River  and  were  swept  down  to  the  Plains,  300 
miles  away,  and  became  railway  ties.  Now 
and  again  this  king,  whose  name  does  not  mat- 
ter, would  mount  a  ring-streaked  horse  and 
ride  scores  of  miles  to  Simlatown  to  confer 
with  the  lieutenant-governor  on  matters  of 
state,  or  assure  the  viceroy  that  his  sword  was 

35 


36  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

at  the  service  of  the  queen-empress.  Then  the 
viceroy  would  cause  a  ruffle  of  drums  to  be 
sounded  and  the  ring-streaked  horse  and  the 
cavalry  of  the  state — two  men  in  tatters — and 
the  herald  who  bore  the  Silver  Stick  before  the 
king  would  trot  back  to  their  own  place,  which 
was  between  the  tail  of  a  heaven-climbing  gla- 
cier and  a  dark  birch  forest. 

Now,  from  such  a  king,  always  remember- 
ing that  he  possessed  one  veritable  elephant 
and  could  count  his  descent  for  1,200  years, 
I  expected,  when  it  was  my  fate  to  wander 
through  his  dominions,  no  more  than  mere 
license  to  live. 

The  night  had  closed  in  rain,  and  rolling 
clouds  had  blotted  out  the  lights  of  the  vil- 
lages in  the  valley.  Forty  miles  away, 
untouched  by  cloud  or  storm,  the  white  shoul- 
der of  Dongo  Pa — the  Mountain  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Gods — upheld  the  evening  star.  The 
monkeys  sung  sorrowfully  to  each  other  as 
they  hunted  for  dry  roots  in  the  fern-draped 
trees,  and  the  last  puff  of  the  day-wind 
brought  from  the  unseen  villages  the  scent  of 
damp  wood  smoke,  hot  cakes,  dripping  under- 
growth, and  rotting  pine-cones.  That  smell 
is  the  true  smell  of  the  Himalayas,  and  if  it 
once  gets  into  the  blood  of  a  man  he  will,  at 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  37 

the  last,  forgetting  everything  else,  return  to 
the  Hills  to  die.  The  clouds  closed  and  the 
smell  went  away,  and  there  remained  nothing 
in  all  the  world  except  chilling  white  mists  and 
the  boom  of  the  Sutlej  River. 

A  fat-tailed  sheep,  who  did  not  want  to  die, 
bleated  lamentably  at  my  tent-door.  He  was 
scuffling  with  the  prime  minister  and  the  direc- 
tor-general of  public  education,  and  he  was  a 
royal  gift  to  me  and  my  camp  servants.  I 
expressed  my  thanks  suitably  and  inquired  if  I 
might  have  audience  of  the  king.  The  prime 
minister  readjusted  his  turban — it  had  fallen 
off  in  the  struggle — and  assured  me  that  the 
king  would  be  very  pleased  to  see  me.  There- 
fore I  despatched  two  bottles  as  a  foretaste, 
and  when  the  sheep  had  entered  upon  another 
incarnation,  climbed  up  to  the  king's  palace 
through  the  wet.  He  had  sent  his  army  to 
escort  me,  but  it  stayed  to  talk  with  my  cook. 
Soldiers  are  very  much  alike  all  the  world 
over. 

The  palace  was  a  four-roomed,  white- 
washed mud-and-timber  house,  the  finest  in  all 
the  Hills  for  a  day's  journey.  The  king  was 
dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  jacket,  white  mus- 
lin trousers,  and  a  saffron-yellow  turban  of 
price.     He  gave  me  audience  in  a  little  car- 


38  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

peted  room  opening  off  the  palace  court-yard, 
which  was  occupied  by  the  elephant  of  state. 
The  great  beast  was  sheeted  and  anchored 
from  trunk  to  tail,  and  the  curve  of  his  back 
stood  out  against  the  sky  line. 

The  prime  minister  and  the  director-general 
of  public  instruction  were  present  to  introduce 
me;  but  all  the  court  had  been  dismissed  lest 
the  two  bottles  aforesaid  should  corrupt  their 
morals.  The  king  cast  a  wreath  of  heavy, 
scented  flowers  round  my  neck  as  I  bowed,  and 
inquired  how  my  honored  presence  had  the 
felicity  to  be.  I  said  that  through  seeing  his 
auspicious  countenance  the  mists  of  the  night 
had  turned  into  sunshine,  and  that  by  reason 
of  his  beneficent  sheep  his  good  deeds  would 
be  remembered  by  the  gods.  He  said  that 
since  I  had  set  my  magnificent  foot  in  his 
kingdom  the  crops  would  probably  yield  sev- 
enty per  cent,  more  than  the  average.  I  said 
that  the  fame  of  the  king  had  reached  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  and  that  the  nations 
gnashed  their  teeth  when  they  heard  daily  of 
the  glory  of  his  realm  and  the  wisdom  of  his 
moon-like  prime  minister  and  lotus-eyed  direc- 
tor-general of  public  education. 

Then  we  sat  down  on  clean  white  cushions, 
and  I  was  at  the  king's  right  hand.     Three 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  39 

minutes  later  he  was  telling  me  that  the  con- 
dition of  the  maize  crop  was  something  dis- 
graceful, and  that  the  railway  companies 
would  not  pay  him  enough  for  his  timber. 
The  talk  shifted  to  and  fro  with  the  bottles. 
We  discussed  very  many  quaint  things,  and 
the  king  became  confidential  on  the  subject  of 
government  generally.  Most  of  all  he  dwelt 
on  the  shortcomings  of  one  of  his  subjects, 
who,  from  what  I  could  gather,  had  been  para- 
lyzing the  executive. 

"In  the  old  days,"  said  the  king,  "I  could 
have  ordered  the  elephant  yonder  to  trample 
him  to  death.  Now  I  must  e'en  send  him  sev- 
enty miles  across  the  hills  to  be  tried,  and  his 
keep  for  that  time  would  be  upon  the  state. 
And  the  elephant  eats  everything." 

"What  be  the  man's  crimes,  Rajah  Sahib?" 
said  I. 

"Firstly,  he  is  an  'outlander,'  and  no  man  of 
mine  own  people.  Secondly,  since  of  my 
favor  I  gave  him  land  upon  his  coming,  he 
refuses  to  pay  revenue.  Am  I  not  the  lord  of 
the  earth,  above  and  below — entitled  by  right 
and  custom  to  one-eighth  of  the  crop?  Yet  this 
devil,  establishing  himself,  refuses  to  pay  a 
single  tax  .  .  .  and  he  brings  a  poison- 
ous spawn  of  babes." 


40  NAMGAY  D00LA 

"Cast  him  into  jail,"  I  said. 

"Sahib,"  the  king  answered,  shifting  a  little 
on  the  cushions,  "  once  and  only  once  in  these 
forty  years  sickness  came  upon  me  so  that 
I  was  not  able  to  go  abroad.  In  that  hour  I 
made  a  vow  to  my  God  that  I  would  never 
again  cut  man  or  woman  from  the  light  of 
the  sun  and  the  air  of  God,  for  I  perceived  the 
nature  of  the  punishment.  How  can  I  break 
my  vow?  Were  it  only  the  lopping  off  of  a 
hand  or  a  foot,  I  should  not  delay.  But  even 
that  is  imposible  now  that  the  English  have 
rule.  One  or  another  of  my  people" — he  looked 
obliquely  at  the  director-general  of  public  edu- 
cation— "would  at  once  write  a  letter  to  the 
viceroy,  and  perhaps  I  should  be  deprived  of 
that  ruffle  of  drums." 

He  unscrewed  the  mouthpiece  of  his  silver 
water-pipe,  fitted  a  plain  amber  one,  and  passed 
the  pipe  to  me.  "Not  content  with  refusing 
revenue,"  he  continued,  "this  outlander  refuses 
also  to  beegar"  (this  is  the  corvee  or  forced 
labor  on  the  roads),  "and  stirs  my  people  up 
to  the  like  treason.  Yet  he  is,  if  so  he  wills, 
an  expert  log-snatcher.  There  is  none  better 
or  bolder  among  my  people  to  clear  a  block  of 
the  river  when  the  logs  stick  fast." 

"But  he  worships  strange  gods,"  said  the 
prime  minister,  deferentially. 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  41 

"For  that  I  have  no  concern,"  said  the  king, 
who  was  as  tolerant  as  Akbar  in  matters  of 
belief.  "To  each  man  his  own  god,  and  the 
fire  or  Mother  Earth  for  us  all  at  the  last. 
It  is  the  rebellion  that  offends  me." 

"The   king   has   an    army,"    I    suggested. 
"Has  not  the  king  burned  the  man's  house,  and 
left  him  naked  to  the  night  dews?" 

"Nay.  A  hut  is  a  hut,  and  it  holds  the  life 
of  a  man.  But  once  I  sent  my  army  against 
him  when  his  excuses  became  wearisome.  Of 
their  heads  he  brake  three  across  the  top  with 
a  stick.  The  other  two  men  ran  away.  Also 
the  guns  would  not  shoot." 

I  had  seen  the  equipment  of  the  infantry. 
One-third  of  it  was  an  old  muzzle-loading 
fowling-piece  with  ragged  rust  holes  where  the 
nipples  should  have  been;  one-third  a  wire- 
bound  matchlock  with  a  worm-eaten  stock, 
and  one-third  a  four-bore  flint  duck-gun,  with- 
out a  flint. 

"But  it  is  to  be  remembered,"  said  the  king, 
reaching  out  for  the  bottle,  "that  he  is  a  very 
f  xpert  log-snatcher  and  a  man  of  a  merry  face. 
What  shall  I  do  to  him,  sahib?" 

This  was  interesting.  The  timid  hill-folk 
would  as  soon  have  refused  taxes  to  their  king 
as  offerings  to  their  gods.  The  rebel  must 
be  a  man  of  character. 


42  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

"If  it  be  the  king's  permission,"  I  said,  "I 
will  not  strike  my  tents  till  the  third  day,  and 
I  will  see  this  man.  The  mercy  of  the  king  is 
godlike,  and  rebellion  is  like  unto  the  sin  of 
witchcraft.  Moreover,  both  the  bottles,  and 
another,  be  empty." 

"You  have  my  leave  to  go,"  said  the  king. 

Next  morning  the  crier  went  through  the 
stare  proclaiming  that  there  was  a  log- jam  on 
the  river  and  that  it  behooved  all  loyal  sub- 
jects to  clear  it.  The  people  poured  down 
from  their  villages  to  the  moist,  warm  val- 
ley of  poppy  fields,  and  the  king  and  I  went 
with  them. 

Hundreds  of  dressed  deodar  logs  had 
caught  on  a  snag  of  rock,  and  the  river  was 
bringing  down  more  logs  every  minute  to  com- 
plete the  blockade.  The  water  snarled  and 
wrenched  and  worried  at  the  timber,  while  the 
population  of  the  state  prodded  at  the  near- 
est logs  with  poles,  in  the  hope  of  easing  the 
pressure.  Then  there  went  up  a  shout  of 
"Namgay  Doola!  Namgay  Doola!"  and  a 
large,  red-haired  villager  hurried  up,  stripping 
off  his  clothes  as  he  ran. 

"That  he  is.  That  is  the  rebel!"  said  the 
king.     "Now  will  the  dam  be  cleared." 

"But  why  has  he  red  hair?"  I  asked,  since 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  43 

red  hair  among  hill-folk  is  as  uncommon  as 
blue  or  green. 

"He  is  an  outlander,"  said  the  king.  "Well 
done!    Oh,  well  done!" 

Namgay  Doola  had  scrambled  on  the  jam 
and  was  clawing  out  the  butt  of  a  log  with  a 
rude  sort  of  a  boat-hook.  It  slid  forward 
slowly,  as  an  alligator  moves,  and  three  or 
four  others  followed  it.  The  green  water 
spouted  through  the  gaps.  Then  the  villagers 
howled  and  shouted  and  leaped  among  the 
logs,  pulling  and  pushing  the  obstinate  timber, 
and  the  red  head  of  Namgay  Doola  was  chief 
among  them  all.  The  logs  swayed  and  chafed 
and  groaned  as  fresh  consignments  from  up- 
stream battered  the  now  weakened  dam.  It 
gave  way  at  last  in  a  smother  of  foam,  racing 
butts,  bobbing  black  heads,  and  a  confusion 
indescribable,  as  the  river  tossed  everything 
before  it.  I  saw  the  red  head  go  down  with 
the  last  remnants  of  the  jam  and  disappear 
between  the  great  grinding  tree  trunks.  It 
rose  close  to  the  bank,  and  blowing  like  a 
grampus,  Namgay  Doola  wiped  the  water  out 
of  his  eyes  and  made  obeisance  to  the  king. 

I  had  time  to  observe  the  man  closely.  The 
virulent  redness  of  his  shock  head  and  beard 
was  most  startling,  and  in  the  thicket  of  hair 


44  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

twinkled  above  high  cheek-bones  two  very 
merry  blue  eyes.  He  was  indeed  an  out- 
lander,  but  yet  a  Thibetan  in  language,  habit 
and  attire.  He  spoke  the  Lepcha  dialect  with 
an  indescribable  softening  of  the  gutturals.  It 
was  not  so  much  a  lisp  as  an  accent. 

"Whence  comest  thou?"  I  asked,  wonder- 
ing. 

"From  Thibet."  He  pointed  across  the  hills 
and  grinned.  That  grin  went  straight  to  my 
heart.  Mechanically  I  held  out  my  hand,  and 
Namgay  Doola  took  it.  No  pure  Thibetan 
would  have  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
gesture.  He  went  away  to  look  for  his 
clothes,  and  as  he  climbed  back  to  his  village, 
I  heard  a  joyous  yell  that  seemed  unaccount- 
ably familiar.  It  was  the  whooping  of  Nam- 
gay Doola. 

"You  see  now,"  said  the  king,  "why  I 
would  not  kill  him.  He  is  a  bold  man  among 
my  logs,  but,"  and  he  shook  his  head  like  a 
schoolmaster,  "I  know  that  before  long  there 
will  be  complaints  of  him  in  the  court.  Let 
us  return  to  the  palace  and  do  justice." 

It  was  that  king's  custom  to  judge  his  sub- 
jects every  day  between  eleven  and  three 
o'clock.  I  heard  him  do  justice  equitably  on 
weighty  matters   of   trespass,   slander,   and   a 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  45 

little  wife-stealing.  Then  his  brow  clouded 
and  he  summoned  me. 

"Again  it  is  Namgay  Doola,"  he  said, 
despairingly.  "Not  content  with  refusing  reve- 
nue on  his  own  part,  he  has  bound  half  his  vil- 
lage by  an  oath  to  the  like  treason.  Never 
before  has  such  a  thing  befallen  me !  Nor  are 
my  taxes  heavy." 

A  rabbit-faced  villager,  with  a  blush  rose 
stuck  behind  his  ear,  advanced  trembling.  He 
had  been  in  Namgay  Doola's  conspiracy,  but 
had  told  everything  and  hoped  for  the  king's 
favor. 

"Oh,  king!"  said  I,  "if  it  be  the  king's  will, 
let  this  matter  stand  over  till  the  morning. 
Only  the  gods  can  do  right  in  a  hurry,  and  it 
may  be  that  yonder  villager  has  lied." 

"Nay,  for  I  know  the  nature  of  Namgay 
Doola;  but  since  a  guest  asks,  let  the  matter 
remain.  Wilt  thou,  for  my  sake,  speak 
harshly  to  this  red-headed  outlander?  He 
may  listen  to  thee." 

I  made  an  attempt  that  very  evening,  but 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  keep  my  coun- 
tenance. Namgay  Doola  grinned  so  persuas- 
ively and  began  to  tell  me  about  a  big  brown 
bear  in  a  poppy  field  by  the  river.  Would  I 
care  to  shoot  that  bear?    I  spoke  austerely  on 


46  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

the  sin  of  detected  conspiracy  and  the  certainty 
of  punishment.  Namgay  Doola's  face  clouded 
for  a  moment.  Shortly  afterward  he  with- 
drew from  my  tent,  and  I  heard  him  singing 
softly  among  the  pines.  The  words  were 
unintelligible  to  me,  but  the  tune,  like  his 
liquid,  insinuating  speech,  seemed  the  ghost  of 
something  strangely  familiar. 


'Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 
To  weeree  ala  gee," 


crooned  Namgay  Doola  again  and  again,  and 
I  racked  my  brain  for  that  lost  tune.  It  was 
not  till  after  dinner  that  I  discovered  some 
one  had  cut  a  square  foot  of  velvet  from  the 
centre  of  my  best  camera-cloth.  This  made 
me  so  angry  that  I  wandered  down  the  valley 
in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  big  brown  bear. 
I  could  hear  him  grunting  like  a  discontented 
pig  in  the  poppy  field  as  I  waited  shoulder 
deep  in  the  dew-dripping  Indian  corn  to  catch 
him  after  his  meal.  The  moon  was  at  full 
and  drew  out  the  scent  of  the  tasseled  crop. 
Then  I  heard  the  anguished  bellow  of  a  Hima- 
layan cow — one  of  the  little  black  crummies 
no  bigger  than  Newfoundland  dogs.  Two 
shadows  that  looked  like  a  bear  and  her  cub 
hurried  past  me.     I  was  in  the  act  of  firing 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  47 

when  I  saw  that  each  bore  a  brilliant  red 
head.  The  lesser  animal  was  trailing  some- 
thing rope-like  that  left  a  dark  track  on  the 
path.  They  were  within  six  feet  of  me,  and 
the  shadow  of  the  moonlight  lay  velvet-black 
on  their  faces.  Velvet-black  was  exactly  the 
word,  for  by  all  the  powers  of  moonlight 
they  were  masked  in  the  velvet  of  my  camera- 
cloth.    I  marveled,  and  went  to  bed. 

Next  morning  the  kingdom  was  in  an 
uproar.  Namgay  Doola,  men  said,  had  gone 
forth  in  the  night  and  with  a  sharp  knife  had 
cut  off  the  tail  of  a  cow  belonging  to  the 
rabbit-faced  villager  who  had  betrayed  him. 
It  was  sacrilege  unspeakable  against  the  holy 
cow !  The  state  desired  his  blood,  but  he  had 
retreated  into  his  hut,  barricaded  the  doors  and 
windows  with  big  stones,  and  defied  the  world. 

The  king  and  I  and  the  populace  approached 
the  hut  cautiously.  There  was  no  hope  of 
capturing  our  man  without  loss  of  life,  for 
from  a  hole  in  the  wall  projected  the  muzzle 
of  an  extremely  well-cared- for  gun — the  only 
gun  in  the  state  that  could  shoot.  Namgay 
Doola  had  narrowly  missed  a  villager  just 
before  we  came   up. 

The  standing  army  stood. 

It  could  do  no  more,  for  when  it  advanced 


48  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

pieces  of  sharp  shale  flew  from  the  windows. 
To  these  were  added  from  time  to  time  show- 
ers of  scalding  water.  We  saw  red  heads 
bobbing  up  and  down  within.  The  family  of 
Namgay  Doola  were  aiding  their  sire.  Blood- 
curdling yells  of  defiance  were  the  only  answer 
to  our  prayers. 

"Never,"  said  the  king,  puffing,  "has  such 
a  thing  befallen  my  state.  Next  year  I  will 
certainly  buy  a  little  cannon."  He  looked  at 
me  imploringly. 

"Is  there  any  priest  in  the  kingdom  to  whom 
he  will  listen?"  said  I,  for  a  light  was  begin- 
ning to  break  upon  me. 

"He  worships  his  own  god,"  said  the  prime 
minister.     "We  can  but  starve  him  out." 

"Let  the  white  man  approach,"  said  Nam- 
gay Doola  from  within.  "All  others  I  will 
kill.    Send  me  the  white  man." 

The  door  was  thrown  open  and  I  entered 
the  smoky  interior  of  a  Thibetan  hut  crammed 
with  children.  And  every  child  had  flaming 
red  hair.  A  fresh-gathered  cow's  tail  lay  on 
the  floor,  and  by  its  side  two  pieces  of  black 
velvet — my  black  velvet — rudely  hacked  into 
the  semblance  of  masks. 

"And  what  is  this  shame,  Namgay  Doola  ?" 
I  asked. 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  49 

He  grinned  more  charmingly  than  ever. 
"There  is  no  shame,"  said  he.  "I  did  but  cut 
off  the  tail  of  that  man's  cow.  He  betrayed 
me.  I  was  minded  to  shoot  him,  sahib,  but 
not  to  death.  Indeed,  not  to  death;  only  in 
the  legs." 

"And  why  at  all,  since  it  is  the  custom  to 
pay  revenue  to  the  king?     Why  at  all?" 

"By  the  god  of  my  father,  I  cannot  tell," 
said  Namgay  Doola. 

"And  who  was  thy   father?" 

"The  same  that  had  this  gun."  He  showed 
me  his  weapon,  a  Tower  musket,  bearing  date 
1832  and  the  stamp  of  the  Honorable  East 
India  Company. 

"And  thy  father's  name?"  said  I. 

"Timla  Doola,"  said  he.  "At  the  first,  I 
being  then  a  little  child,  it  is  in  my  mind  that 
he  wore  a  red  coat." 

"Of  that  I  have  no  doubt;  but  repeat  the 
name  of  thy  father  twice  or  thrice." 

He  obeyed,  and  I  understood  whence  the 
puzzling  accent  in  his  speech  came.  "Thimla 
Dhula!"  said  he,  excitedly.  "To  this  hour 
I  worship  his  god." 

"May  I  see  that  god?" 

"In  a  little  while — at  twilight  time." 

"Rememberest  thou  aught  of  thy  father's 
speech  ?" 


50  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

"It  is  long  ago.  But  there  was  one  word 
which  he  said  often.  Thus,  ''Shun!'  Then 
I  and  my  brethren  stood  upon  our  feet,  our 
hands  to  our  sides,  thus." 

"Even  so.    And  what  was  thy  mother?" 

"A  woman  of  the  Hills.  We  be  Lepchas  of 
Darjiling,  but  me  they  call  an  outlander  be- 
cause my  hair  is  as  thou  seest." 

The  Thibetan  woman,  his  wife,  touched  him 
on  the  arm  gently.  The  long  parley  outside 
the  fort  had  lasted  far  into  the  day.  It  was 
now  close  upon  twilight — the  hour  of  the 
Angelus.  Very  solemnly  the  red-headed  Lrats 
rose  from  the  floor  and  formed  a  semicircle. 
Namgay  Doola  laid  his  gun  aside,  lighted 
a  little  oil-lamp,  and  set  it  before  a  recess  in 
the  wall.  Pulling  back  a  whisp  of  dirty  cloth, 
he  revealed  a  worn  brass  crucifix  leaning 
against  the  helmet  badge  of  a  long- forgotten 
East  India  Company's  regiment.  "Thus  did 
my  father,"  he  said,  crossing  himself  clumsily. 
The  wife  and  children  followed  suit.  Then, 
all  together,  they  struck  up  the  wailing  chant 
that  I  heard  on  the  hillside : 

"Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 
To  weeree  ala  gee." 

I  was  puzzled  no  longer.     Again  and  again 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  5 1 

they  sung,  as  if  their  hearts  would  break, 
their  version  of  the  chorus  of  "The  Wearing 
of  the  Green" : 

"They're  hanging  men  and  women,  too, 
For  the  wearing  of  the  green." 

A  diabolical  inspiration  came  to  me.  One  of 
the  brats,  a  boy  about  eight  years  old — could 
he  have  been  in  the  fields  last  night? — was 
watching  me  as  he  sung.  I  pulled  out  a  rupee, 
held  the  coin  between  finger  and  thumb,  and 
looked — only  looked — at  the  gun  leaning 
against  the  wall.  A  grin  of  brilliant  and  per- 
fect comprehension  overspread  his  porringer- 
like face.  Never  for  an  instant  stopping  the 
song,  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  money,  and 
then  slid  the  gun  to  my  hand.  I  might  have 
shot  Namgay  Doola  dead  as  he  chanted,  but 
I  was  satisfied.  The  inevitable  blood-instinct 
held  true.  Namgay  Doola  drew  the  curtain 
across  the  recess.     Angelus  was  over. 

"Thus  my  father  sung.  There  was  much 
more,  but  I  have  forgotten,  and  I  do  not  know 
the  purport  of  even  these  words,  but  it  may 
be  that  the  god  will  understand.  I  am  not  of 
this  people,  and  I  will  not  pay  revenue." 

"And  why?" 

Again  that   soul-compelling   grin.      "What 


52  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

occupation  would  be  to  me  between  crop  and 
crop?  It  is  better  than  scaring  bears.  But 
these  people  do  not  understand." 

He  picked  the  masks  off  the  floor  and  looked 
in  my  face  as  simply  as  a  child. 

"By  what  road  didst  thou  attain  knowledge 
to  make  those  deviltries?"  I  said,  pointing. 

"I  cannot  tell.  I  am  but  a  Lepcha  of  Dar- 
jiling,  and  yet  the  stuff" — 

"Which  thou  hast  stolen,"  said  I. 

"Nay,  surely.  Did  I  steal?  I  desired  it 
so.  The  stuff — the  stuff.  What  else  should 
I  have  done  with  the  stuff?"  He  twisted  the 
velvet  between  his  fingers. 

"But  the  sin  of  maiming  the  cow — consider 
that." 

"Oh,  sahib,  the  man  betrayed  me;  the 
heifer's  tail  waved  in  the  moonlight,  and  I  had 
my  knife.  What  else  should  I  have  done? 
The  tail  came  off  ere  I  was  aware.  Sahib, 
thou  knowest  more  than  I." 

"That  is  true,"  said  I.  "Stay  within  the 
door.  I  go  to  speak  to  the  king."  The  popula- 
tion of  the  state  were  ranged  on  the  hillside. 
I  went  forth  and  spoke. 

"Oh,  king,"  said  I,  "touching  this  man, 
there  be  two  courses  open  to  thy  wisdom. 
Thou  canst  either  hang  him  from  a  tree — he 


NAMGAY  DOOLA  53 

and  his  brood — till  there  remains  no  hair  that 
is  red  within  thy  land." 

"Nay,"  said  the  king.  "Why  should  I  hurt 
the  little  children?" 

They  had  poured  out  of  the  hut  and  were 
making  plump  obeisances  to  everybody.  Nam- 
gay  Doola  waited  at  the  door  with  his  gun 
across  his  arm. 

"Or  thou  canst,  discarding  their  impiety  of 
the  cow-maiming,  raise  him  to  honor  in  thy 
army.  He  comes  of  a  race  that  will  not  pay 
revenue.  A  red  flame  is  in  his  blood  which 
comes  out  at  the  top  of  his  head  in  that 
glowing  hair.  Make  him  chief  of  thy  army. 
Give  him  honor  as  may  befall  and  full  allow- 
ance of  work,  but  look  to  it,  oh,  king,  that 
neither  he  nor  his  hold  a  foot  of  earth  from 
thee  henceforward.  Feed  him  with  words  and 
favor,  and  also  liquor  from  certain  bottles  that 
thou  knowest  of,  and  he  will  be  a  bulwark  of 
defense.  But  deny  him  even  a  tuftlet  of  grass 
for  his  own.  This  is  the  nature  that  God  has 
given  him.     Moreover,  he  has  brethren" — 

The  state  groaned  unanimously. 

"But  if  his  brethren  come  they  will  surely 
fight  with  each  other  till  they  die;  or  else  the 
one  will  always  give  information  concerning 
the  other.  Shall  he  be  of  thy  army,  oh,  king? 
Choose." 


54  NAMGAY  DOOLA 

The  king  bowed  his  head,  and  I  said: 
"Come  forth,  Namgay  Doola,  and  command 
the  king's  army.  Thy  name  shall  no  more  be 
Namgay  in  the  mouths  of  men,  but  Patsay 
Doola,  for,  as  thou  hast  truly  said,  I  know." 

Then  Namgay  Doola,  new-christened  Pat- 
say  Doola,  son  of  Timlay  Doola — which  is 
Tim  Doolan — clasped  the  king's  feet,  cuffed 
the  standing  army,  and  hurried  in  an  agony 
of  contrition  from  temple  to  temple  making 
offerings  for  the  sin  of  cattle-maiming. 

And  the  king  was  so  pleased  with  my  perspi- 
cacity that  he  offered  to  sell  me  a  village  for 
£20  sterling.  But  I  buy  no  village  in  the 
Himalayas  so  long  as  one  red  head  flares  be- 
tween the  tail  of  the  heaven-climbing  glacier 
and  the  dark  birch  forest. 

I  know  that  breed. 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  IMRAY. 

T  MRAY  had  achieved  the  impossible.  With- 
•*-  out  warning,  for  no  conceivable  motive,  in 
his  youth  and  at  the  threshold  of  his  career 
he  had  chosen  to  disappear  from  the  world — 
which  is  to  say,  the  little  Indian  station  where 
he  lived.  Upon  a  day  he  was  alive,  well, 
happy,  and  in  great  evidence  at  his  club,  among 
the  billiard-tables.  Upon  a  morning  he  was 
not,  and  no  manner  of  search  could  make  sure 
where  he  might  be.  He  had  stepped  out  of  his 
place;  he  had  not  appeared  at  his  office  at  the 
proper  time,  and  his  dog-cart  was  not  upon  the 
public  reads.  For  these  reasons  and  because 
he  was  hampering  in  a  microscopical  degree 
the  administration  of  the  Indian  Empire,  the 
Indian  Empire  paused  for  one  microscopical 
moment  to  make  inquiry  into  the  fate  of 
Imray,  Ponds  were  dragged,  wells  were 
plumbed,  telegrams  were  dispatched  down  the 
lines  of  railways  and  to  the  nearest  seaport 
town — 1,200  miles  away — but  Imray  was  not 
at  the  end  of  the  drag-ropes  nor  the  telegrams. 
He  was  gone,  and  his  place  knew  him  no 

57 


58  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

more.  Then  the  work  of  the  great  Indian 
Empire  swept  forward,  because  it  could  not 
be  delayed,  and  Imray,  from  being  a  man,  be- 
came a  mystery — such  a  thing  as  men  talk 
over  at  their  tables  in  the  club  for  a  month  and 
then  forget  utterly.  His  guns,  horses,  and 
carts  were  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  His 
superior  officer  wrote  an  absurd  letter  to  his 
mother,  saying  that  Imray  had  unaccount- 
ably disappeared  and  his  bungalow  stood 
empty  on  the  road. 

After  three  or  four  months  of  the  scorching 
hot  weather  had  gone  by,  my  friend  Strick- 
land, of  the  police  force,  saw  fit  to  rent  the 
bungalow  from  the  native  landlord.  This  .vas 
before  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Youghai — an 
affair  which  has  been  described  in  another 
place — and  while  he  was  pursuing  his  investi- 
gations into  native  life.  His  own  life  was 
sufficiently  peculiar,  and  men  complained  of  1  is 
manners  and  customs.  There  was  always  food 
in  his  house,  but  there  were  no  regular  times 
for  meals.  He  eat,  standing  up  and  walking 
about,  whatever  he  might  find  on  the  side- 
board, and  this  is  not  good  for  the  insides 
of  human  beings.  His  domestic  equipment 
was  limited  to  six  rifles,  three  shot-guns,  five 
saddles,    and    a    collection     of     stiff-jointed 


OF  IMRAY  59 

masheer  rods,  bigger  and  stronger  than  the 
largest  salmon  rods.  These  things  occupied 
one  half  of  his  bungalow,  and  the  other  half 
was  given  up  to  Strickland  and  his  dog  Tiet- 
jens — an  enormous  Rampur  slut,  who  sung 
when  she  was  ordered,  and  devoured  daily  the 
rations  of  two  men.  She  spoke  to  Strickland 
in  a  language  of  her  own,  and  whenever,  in 
her  walks  abroad  she  saw  things  calculated 
to  destroy  the  peace  of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen 
Empress,  she  returned  to  her  master  and  gave 
him  information.  Strickland  would  take  steps 
at  once,  and  the  end  of  his  labors  was  trouble 
and  fine  and  imprisonment  for  other  people. 
The  natives  believed  that  Tietjens  was  a  famil- 
iar spirit,  and  treated  her  with  the  great  rever- 
ence that  is  born  of  hate  and  fear.  One  room 
in  the  bungalow  was  set  apart  for  her  special 
use.  She  owned  a  bedstead,  a  blanket,  and  a 
drinking-trough,  and  if  any  one  came  into 
Strickland's  room  at  night,  her  custom  was  to 
knock  down  the  invader  and  give  tongue  till 
some  one  came  with  a  light.  Strickland  owes 
his  life  to  her.  When  he  was  on  the  frontier  in 
search  of  the  local  murderer  who  came  in  the 
grey  dawn  to  send  Strickland  much  further 
than  the  Andaman  Islands,  Tietjens  caught 
him  as  he  was  crawling  into  Strickland's  tent 


6o  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

with  a  dagger  between  his  teeth,  and  after  his 
record  of  iniquity  was  established  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law,  he  was  hanged.  From  that  date 
Tietjens  wore  a  collar  of  rough  silver  and 
employed  a  monogram  on  her  night  blanket, 
and  the  blanket  was  double-woven  Kashmir 
cloth,  for  she  was  a  delicate  dog. 

Under  no  circumstances  would  she  be  sepa- 
rated from  Strickland,  and  when  he  was  ill 
with  fever  she  made  great  trouble  for  the 
doctors  because  she  did  not  know  how  to  help 
her  master  and  would  not  allow  another  crea- 
ture to  attempt  aid.  Macarnaght,  of  the 
Indian  Medical  Service,  beat  her  over  the  head 
with  a  gun,  before  she  could  understand  that 
she  must  give  room  for  those  who  could  give 
quinine. 

A  short  time  after  Strickland  had  taken 
Imray's  bungalow,  my  business  took  me 
through  that  station,  and  naturally,  the  club 
quarters  being  full,  I  quartered  my?elf  upon 
Strickland.  It  was  a  desirable  bungalow, 
eight-roomed,  and  heavily  thatched  against 
any  chance  of  leakage  from  rain.  Under  the 
pitch  of  the  roof  ran  a  ceiling  cloth,  which 
looked  just  as  nice  as  a  white-washed  ceiling. 
The  landlord  had  repainted  it  when  Strick- 
land took  the  bungalow,  and  unless  you  knew 


OF  IMRAY  6 1 

how  Indian  bungalows  were  built  you  would 
never  have  suspected  that  above  the  cloth  lay 
the  dark,  three-cornered  cavern  of  the  roof, 
where  the  beams  and  the  under  side  of  the 
thatch  harbored  all  manner  of  rats,  bats,  ants, 
and  other  things. 

Tietjens  met  me  in  the  veranda  with  a  bay 
like  the  boom  of  the  bells  of  St.  Paul's,  and  put 
her  paws  on  my  shoulders  and  said  she  was 
glad  to  see  me.  Strickland  had  contrived 
to  put  together  that  sort  of  meal  which  he 
called  lunch,  and  immediately  after  it  was  fin- 
ished went  out  about  his  business.  I  was  left 
alone  with  Tietjens  and  my  own  affairs.  The 
heat  of  the  summer  had  broken  up  and  given 
place  to  the  warm  damp  of  the  rains.  There 
was  no  motion  in  the  heated  air,  but  the  rain 
fell  like  bayonet  rods  on  the  earth,  and  flung 
up  a  blue  mist  where  it  splashed  back  again. 
The  bamboos  and  the  custard  apples,  the  poin- 
settias  and  the  mango-trees  in  the  garden 
stood  still  while  the  warm  water  lashed 
through  them,  and  the  frogs  began  to  sing 
among  the  aloe  hedges.  A  little  before  the 
light  failed,  and  when  the  rain  was  at  its 
worst,  I  sat  in  the  back  veranda  and  heard  the 
water  roar  from  the  eaves,  and  scratched  my- 
self because  I  was  covered  with  the  thing  they 


62  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

called  prickly  heat.  Tietjens  came  out  with 
me  and  put  her  head  in  my  lap,  and  was  very 
sorrowful,  so  I  gave  her  biscuits  when  tea  was 
ready,  and  I  took  tea  in  the  back  veranda  on 
account  of  the  little  coolness  I  found  there. 
The  rooms  of  the  house  were  dark  behind  me. 
I  could  smell  Strickland's  saddlery  and  the  oil 
on  his  guns,  and  I  did  not  the  least  desire  to 
sit  among  these  things.  My  own  servant 
came  to  me  in  the  twilight,  the  muslin  of  his 
clothes  clinging  tightly  to  his  drenched  body, 
and  told  me  that  a  gentleman  had  called  and 
wished  to  see  some  one.  Very  much  against 
my  will,  and  because  of  the  darkness  of  the 
rooms,  I  went  into  the  naked  drawing-room, 
telling  my  man  to  bring  the  lights.  There 
might  or  might  not  have  been  a  caller  in  the 
room — it  seems  to  me  that  I  saw  a  figure  by 
one  of  the  windows,  but  when  the  lights  came 
there  was  nothing  save  the  spikes  of  the  rain 
without  and  the  smell  of  the  drinking  earth 
in  my  nostrils.  I  explained  to  my  man  that  he 
was  no  wiser  than  he  ought  to  be,  and  went 
back  to  the  veranda  to  talk  to  Tietjens.  She 
had  gone  out  into  the  wet  and  I  could  hardly 
coax  her  back  to  me — even  with  biscuits  with 
sugar  on  top.  Strickland  rode  back,  dripping 
wet,  just  before  dinner,  and  the  first  thing  he 
said  was: 


OF  IMRAY  63 

"Has  any  one  called?" 

I  explained,  with  apologies,  that  my  servant 
had  called  me  into  the  drawing-room  on  a 
false  alarm,  or  that  some  loafer  had  tried  to 
call  on  Strickland,  and,  thinking  better  of  it, 
fled  after  giving  his  name.  Strickland  ordered 
dinner  without  comment,  and  since  it  was  a 
real  dinner,  with  white  table-cloth  attached,  we 
sat  down. 

At  nine  o'clock  Strickland  wanted  to  go  to 
bed,  and  I  was  tired  too.  Tietjens,  who  had 
been  lying  underneath  the  table,  rose  up  and 
went  into  the  least-exposed  veranda  as  soon  as 
her  master  moved  to  his  own  room,  which 
was  next  to  the  stately  chamber  set  apart  for 
Tietjens.  If  a  mere  wife  had  wished  to  sleep 
out-of-doors  in  that  pelting  rain,  it  would  not 
have  mattered,  but  Tietjens  was  a  dog,  and 
therefore  the  better  animal.  I  looked  at 
Strickland,  expecting  to  see  him  flog  her  with 
a  whip.  He  smiled  queerly,  as  a  man  would 
smile  after  telling  some  hideous  domestic  trag- 
edy. "She  has  done  this  ever  since  I  moved 
in  here/5 

The  dog  was  Strickland's  dog,  so  I  said 
nothing,  but  I  felt  all  that  Strickland  felt  in 
being  made  light  of.  Tietjens  encamped  out* 
side  my  bedroom   window,   and   storm   after 


64  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

storm  came  up,  thundered  on  the  thatch,  and 
died  away.  The  lightning  spattered  the  sky 
as  a  thrown  egg  spattered  a  barn  door,  but 
the  light  was  pale  blue,  not  yellow;  and  look- 
ing through  my  slit  bamboo  blinds,  I  could  see 
the  great  dog  standing,  not  sleeping,  in  the 
veranda,  the  hackles  alift  on  her  back,  and  her 
feet  planted  as  tensely  as  the  drawn  wire  rope 
of  a  suspension  bridge.  In  the  very  short 
pauses  of  the  thunder  I  tried  to  sleep,  but  it 
seemed  that  some  one  wanted  me  very  badly. 
He,  whoever  he  was,  was  trying  to  call  me  by 
name,  but  his  voice  was  no  more  than  a  husky 
whisper.  Then  the  thunder  ceased  and  Tiet- 
jens  went  into  the  garden  and  howled  at  the 
low  moon.  Somebody  tried  to  open  my  door, 
and  walked  about  and  through  the  house,  and 
stood  breathing  heavily  in  the  verandas,  and 
just  when  I  was  falling  asleep  I  fancied  that  I 
heard  a  wild  hammering  and  clamoring  above 
my  head  or  on  the  door. 

I  ran  into  Strickland's  room  and  asked  him 
whether  he  was  ill  and  had  been  calling  for 
me.  He  was  lying  on  the  bed  half-dressed, 
with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  "I  thought  you'd 
come,"  he  said.  "Have  I  been  walking  around 
the  house  at  all?" 

I  explained  that  he  had  been  in  the  dining- 


OF  IMRAY  65 

room  and  the  smoking-room  and  two  or  three 
other  places;  and  he  laughed  and  told  me  to 
go  back  to  bed.  I  went  back  to  bed  and  slept 
till  the  morning,  but  in  all  my  dreams  I  was 
sure  I  was  doing  some  one  an  injustice  in  not 
attending  to  his  wants.  What  those  wants  were 
I  could  not  tell,  but  a  fluttering,  whispering, 
bolt-fumbling,  luring,  loitering  some  one  was 
reproaching  me  for  my  slackness,  and  through 
all  the  dreams  I  heard  the  howling  of  Tietjens 
in  the  garden  and  the  thrashing  of  the  rain. 

I  was  in  that  house  for  two  days,  and 
Strickland  went  to  his  office  daily,  leaving  me 
alone  for  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day,  with  Tiet- 
jens for  my  only  companion.  As  long  as  the 
full  light  lasted  I  was  comfortable,  and  so  was 
Tietjens ;  but  in  the  twilight  she  and  I  moved 
into  the  back  veranda  and  cuddled  each  other 
for  company.  We  were  alone  in  the  house, 
but  for  all  that  it  was  fully  occupied  by  a  ten- 
ant with  whom  I  had  no  desire  to  interfere. 
I  never  saw  him,  but  I  could  see  the  curtains 
between  the  rooms  quivering  where  he  had 
just  passed  through;  I  could  hear  the  chairs 
creaking  as  the  bamboos  sprung  under  a 
weight  that  had  just  quitted  them;  and  I  could 
feel  when  I  went  to  get  a  book  from  the  din- 
ing-room that  somebody  was  waiting  in  tire 


66  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

shadows  of  the  front  veranda  till  I  should 
have  gone  away.  Tietjens  made  the  twilight 
more  interesting  by  glaring  into  the  dark- 
ened rooms,  with  every  hair  erect,  and  follow- 
ing the  motions  of  something  I  could  not  see. 
She  never  entered  the  rooms,  but  her  eyes 
moved,  and  that  was  quite  sufficient.  Only 
when  my  servant  came  to  trim  the  lamps  and 
make  all  light  and  habitable,  she  would  come 
in  with  me  and  spend  her  time  sitting  on  her 
haunches  watching  an  invisible  extra  man  as 
he  moved  about  behind  my  shoulder.  Dogs 
are  cheerful  companions. 

I  explained  to  Strickland,  gently  as  might 
be,  that  I  would  go  over  to  the  club  and  find 
for  myself  quarters  there.  I  admired  his  hos- 
pitality, was  pleased  with  his  guns  and  rods, 
but  I  did  not  much  care  for  his  house  and  its 
atmosphere.  He  heard  me  out  to  the  end,  and 
then  smiled  very  wearily,  but  without  con- 
tempt, for  he  is  a  man  who  understands 
things.  "Stay  on,"  he  said,  "and  see  what 
this  thing  means.  All  you  have  talked  about 
I  have  known  since  I  took  the  bungalow. 
Stay  on  and  wait.  Tietjens  has  left  me.  Are 
you  going  too? 

I  had  seen  him  through  one  little  affair  con- 
nected with  an  idol  that  had  brought  me  to  the 


OF  IMRAY  67 

doors  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  I  had  no  de- 
sire to  help  him  through  further  experiences. 
He  was  a  man  to  whom  unpleasantnesses  ar- 
rived as  do  dinners  to  ordinary  people. 

Therefore  I  explained  more  clearly  than 
ever  that  I  liked  him  immensely,  and  would 
be  happy  to  see  him  in  the  daytime,  but  that  I 
didn't  care  to  sleep  under  his  roof.  This  was 
after  dinner,  when  Tietjens  had  gone  out  to 
lie  in  the  veranda. 

"  Ton  my  soul,  I  don't  wonder,"  said 
Strickland,  with  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling-cloth. 
"Look  at  that!" 

The  tails  of  two  snakes  were  hanging  be- 
tween the  cloth  and  the  cornice  of  the  wall. 
They  threw  long  shadows  in  the  lamp-light. 
"If  you  are  afraid  of  snakes,  of  course" — 
said  Strickland.  "I  hate  and  fear  snakes,  be- 
cause if  you  look  into  the  eyes  of  any  snake 
you  will  see  that  it  knows  all  and  more  of 
man's  fall,  and  that  it  feels  all  the  contempt 
that  the  devil  felt  when  Adam  was  evicted 
from  Eden.  Besides  which  its  bite  is  gener- 
ally fatal,  and  it  bursts  up  trouser  legs." 

"You  ought  to  get  your  thatch  overhauled," 
I  said.  "Give  me  a  masheer  rod,  and  we'll 
poke  'em  down." 

"They'll  hide  among  the  roof  beams,"  said 


68  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

Strickland.  "I  can't  stand  snakes  overhead. 
I'm  going  up.  If  I  shake  'em  down,  stand  by 
with  a  cleaning  rod  and  break  their  backs." 

I  was  not  anxious  to  assist  Strickland  in  his 
work,  but  I  took  the  loading-rod  and  waited 
in  the  dining-room,  while  Strickland  brought 
a  gardener's  ladder  from  the  veranda  and  set 
it  against  the  side  of  the  room.  The  snake 
tai1~  drew  themselves  up  and  disappeared. 
We  could  hear  the  dry  rushing  scuttle  of  long 
bodies  running  over  the  baggy  cloth.  Strick- 
land took  a  lamp  with  him,  while  I  tried  to 
make  clear  the  danger  of  hunting  roof  snakes 
between  a  ceiling  cloth  and  a  thatch,  apart 
from  the  deterioration  of  property  caused  by 
ripping  out  ceiling-cloths. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Strickland.  "They're 
sure  to  hide  near  the  walls  by  the  cloth.  The 
bricks  are  too  cold  for  'em,  and  the  heat  of  the 
room  is  just  what  they  like."  He  put  his  hand 
to  the  corner  of  the  cloth  and  ripped  the  rotten 
stuff  from  the  cornice.  It  gave  a  great  sound 
of  tearing,  and  Strickland  put  his  head 
through  the  opening  into  the  dark  angle  of  the 
roof  beams.  I  set  my  teeth  and  lifted  the 
loading-rod,  for  I  had  not  the  least  knowledge 
of  what  might  descend. 

"H'm,"    said     Strickland;     and    his    voice 


OF  IMRAY  69 

rolled  and  rumbled  in  the  roof.  "There's  room 
for  another  set  of  rooms  up  here,  and,  by 
Jove!  some  one  is  occupying  'em." 

"Snakes?"  I  said  down  below. 

"No.  It's  a  buffalo.  Hand  me  up  the  two 
first  joints  of  a  masheer  rod,  and  I'll  prod  it. 
It's  lying  on  the  main  beam." 

I  handed  up  the  rod. 

"What  a  nest  for  owls  and  serpents!  No 
wonder  the  snakes  live  here,"  said  Strickland, 
climbing  further  into  the  roof.  I  could  see  his 
elbow  thrusting  with  the  rod.  "Come  out  of 
that,  whoever  you  are!  Look  out!  Heads  be- 
low there!    It's  tottering." 

I  saw  the  ceiling-cloth  nearly  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  bag  with  a  shape  that  was  press- 
ing it  downward  and  downward  toward  the 
lighted  lamps  on  the  table.  I  snatched  a  lamp 
out  of  danger  and  stood  back.  Then  the  cloth 
ripped  out  from  the  walls,  tore,  split,  swayed 
and  shot  down  upon  the  table  something  that 
I  dared  not  look  at  till  Strickland  had  slid 
down  the  ladder  and  was  standing  by  my  side. 

He  did  not  say  much,  being  a  man  of  few 
words,  but  he  picked  up  the  loose  end  of  the 
tablecloth  and  threw  it  over  the  thing  on  the 
table. 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  he,  pulling  down  the 


70  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

lamp,  "our  friend  Imray  has  come  back.  Oh! 
you  would,  would  you?" 

There  was  a  movement  under  the  cloth,  and 
a  little  snake  wriggled  out,  to  be  back-broken 
by  the  butt  of  the  masheer  rod.  I  was  suffi- 
ciently sick  to  make  no  remarks  worth  record- 
ing. 

Strickland  meditated  and  helped  himself  to 
drinks  liberally.  The  thing  under  the  cloth 
made  no  more  signs  of  life. 

"Is  it  Imray?"  I  said. 

Strickland  turned  back  the  cloth  for  a  mo- 
ment and  looked.  "It  is  Imray,"  he  said,  "and 
his  throat  is  cut  from  ear  to  ear." 

Then  we  spoke  both  together  and  to  our- 
selves: "That's  why  he  whispered  about  the 
house." 

Tietjens,  in  the  garden,  began  to  bay  furi- 
ously. A  little  later  her  great  nose  heaved 
upon  the  dining-room  door. 

She  sniffed  and  was  still.  The  broken  and 
tattered  ceiling-cloth  hung  down  almost  to  the 
level  of  the  table,  and  there  was  hardly  room 
to  move  away  from  the  discovery. 

Then  Tietjens  came  in  and  sat  down,  her 
teeth  bared,  and  her  forepaws  planted.  She 
looked  at  Strickland. 

"It's  bad  business,  old  lady,"  said  he.    "Men 


OF  IMRAY  71 

don't  go  up  into  the  roofs  of  their  bungalows 
to  die,  and  they  don't  fasten  up  the  ceiling- 
cloth  behind  'em.    Let's  think  it  out." 

"Let's  think  it  out  somewhere  else,"  I  said. 

"Excellent  idea!  Turn  the  lamps  out.  We'll 
get  into  my  room." 

I  did  not  turn  the  lamps  out.  I  went  into 
Strickland's  room  first  and  allowed  him  to 
make  the  darkness.  Then  he  followed  me, 
and  we  lighted  tobacco  and  thought.  Strick- 
land did  the  thinking.  I  smoked  furiously  be- 
cause I  was  afraid. 

"Imray  is  back,"  said  Strickland.  "The 
question  is,  who  killed  Imray?  Don't  talk — 
I  have  a  notion  of  my  own.  When  I  took  this 
bungalow  I  took  most  of  Imray's  servants. 
Imray  was  guileless  and  inoffensive,  wasn't 
he?" 

I  agreed,  though  the  heap  under  the  cloth 
looked  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other, 

"If  I  call  the  servants  they  will  stand  fast 
in  a  crowd  and  lie  like  Aryans.  What  do  you 
suggest?" 

"Call  'em  in  one  by  one,"  I  said. 

"They'll  run  away  and  give  the  news  to  all 
their  fellows,"  said  Strickland. 

"We  must  segregate  'em.  Do  you  suppose 
your  servant  knows  anything  about  it?" 


J2  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

"He  may,  for  aught  I  know,  but  I  don't 
think  it's  likely.  He  has  only  been  here  two 
or  three  days." 

"What's  your  notion?"  I  asked. 

"I  can't  quite  tell.  How  the  dickens  did  the 
man  get  the  wrong  side  of  the  ceiling-cloth?" 

There  was  a  heavy  coughing  outside  Strick- 
land's bedroom  door.  This  showed  that  Ba- 
hadur Khan,  his  body-servant,  had  waked 
from  sleep  and  wished  to  put  Strickland  to 
bed. 

"Come  in,"  said  Strickland.  "It  is  a  very 
warm  night,  isn't  it  ?" 

Bahadur  Khan,  a  great,  green-turbaned, 
six-foot  Mohammedan,  said  that  it  was  a 
very  warm  night,  but  that  there  was  more  rain 
pending,  which,  by  his  honor's  favor,  would 
bring  relief  to  the  country. 

"It  will  be  so,  if  God  pleases,"  said  Strick- 
land, tugging  off  his  boots.  "It  is  in  my 
mind,  Bahadur  Kahn,  that  I  have  worked 
thee  remorselessly  for  many  days — ever  since 
that  time  when  thou  first  earnest  into  my  ser- 
vice.    What  time  was  that?" 

"Has  the  heaven-born  forgotten?  It  was 
when  Imray  Sahib  went  secretly  to  Europe 
without  warning  given,  and  I — even  I — came 
into  the  honored  service  of  the  protector  of 
the  poor." 


OF  IMRAY  73 

"And  Imray  Sahib  went  to  Europe  ?" 

"It  is  so  said  among  the  servants." 

"And  thou  wilt  take  service  with  him  when 
he  returns?" 

"Assuredly,  sahib.  He  was  a  good  master 
and  cherished  his  dependents." 

"That  is  true.  I  am  very  tired,  but  I  can 
go  buck-shooting  to-morrow.  Give  me  the 
little  rifle  that  I  use  for  black  buck ;  it  is  in  the 
case  yonder." 

The  man  stooped  over  the  case,  handed  bar- 
rels, stock,  and  fore-end  to  Strickland,  who 
fitted  them  together.  Yawning  dolefully, 
then  he  reached  down  to  the  gun-case,  took  a 
solid  drawn  cartridge,  and  slipped  it  into  the 
breech  of  the  .360  express. 

"And  Imray  Sahib  has  gone  to  Europe  se- 
cretly? That  is  very  strange,  Bahadur  Khan, 
is  it  not?" 

"What  do  I  know  of  the  ways  of  the  white 
man,  heaven-born?" 

"Very  little,  truly.  But  thou  shalt  know 
more.  It  has  reached  me  that  Imray  Sahib 
has  returned  from  his  so  long  journeyings,  and 
that  even  now  he  lies  in  the  next  room,  wait- 
ing his  servant." 

"Sahib!" 

The  lamp-light  slid  along  the  barrels  of  the 


74  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

rifle  as  they  leveled  themselves  against  Baha- 
dur Khan's  broad  breast. 

"Go,  then,  and  look!"  said  Strickland. 
"Take  a  lamp.  Thy  master  is  tired,  and  he 
waits.    Go !" 

The  man  picked  up  a  lamp  and  went  into 
the  dining-room,  Strickland  following,  and 
almost  pushing  him  with  the  muzzle  of  the 
rifle.  He  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  black 
depths  behind  the  ceiling-cloth,  at  the  carcass 
of  the  mangled  snake  under  foot,  and  last,  a 
grey  glaze  setting  on  his  face,  at  the  thing  un- 
der the  table-cloth. 

"Hast  thou  seen?"  said  Strickland,  after 
a  pause. 

"I  have  seen.  I  am  clay  in  the  white  man's 
hands.    What  does  the  presence  do  ?" 

"Hang  thee  within  a  month!    What  else?" 

"For  killing  him?  Nay,  sahib,  consider. 
Walking  among  us,  his  servants,  he  cast  his 
eyes  upon  my  child,  who  was  four  years  old. 
Him  he  bewitched,  and  in  ten  days  he  died  of 
the  fever.    My  child !" 

"What  said  Imray  Sahib?" 

"He  said  he  was  a  handsome  child,  and 
patted  him  on  the  head;  wherefore  my  child 
died.  Wherefore  I  killed  Imray  Sahib  in  the 
twilight,  when  he  came  back  from  office  and 


OF  IMRAY  75 

was  sleeping.  The  heaven-born  knows  all 
things.    I  am  the  servant  of  the  heaven-born." 

Strickland  looked  at  me  above  the  rifle,  and 
said,  in  the  vernacular:  "Thou  art  witness  to 
this  saying.     He  has  killed." 

Bahadur  Khan  stood  ashen  grey  in  the  light 
of  the  one  lamp.  The  need  for  justification 
came  upon  him  very  swiftly. 

"I  am  trapped,"  he  said,  "but  the  offence 
was  that  man's.  He  cast  an  evil  eye  upon  my 
child,  and  I  killed  and  hid  him.  Only  such 
as  are  served  by  devils,"  he  glared  at  Tiet- 
jens,  crouched  stolidly  before  him,  "only  such 
could  know  what  I  did." 

"It  was  clever.  But  thou  shouldst  have 
lashed  him  to  a  beam  with  a  rope.  Now,  thou 
thyself  wilt  hang  by  a  rope.     Orderly!" 

A  drowsy  policeman  answered  Strickland's 
call.  He  was  followed  by  another,  and  Tiet- 
jens  sat  still. 

"Take  him  to  the  station,"  said  Strickland. 
"There  is  a  case  toward." 

"Do  I  hang,  then?"  said  Bahadur  Khan, 
making  no  attempt  to  escape  and  keeping  his 
eyes  on  the  ground. 

"If  the  sun  shines,  or  the  water  runs,  thou 
wilt  hang,"  said  Strickland.  Bahadur  Kahn 
stepped  back  one  pace,   quivered,  and  stood 


y6  THE  RECRUDESCENCE 

still.  The  two  policemen  waited  further  or* 
ders. 

"Go!"  said  Strickland. 

"Nay;  but  I  go  very  swiftly,"  said  Baha- 
dur Khan.  "Look!  I  am  even  now  a  dead 
man." 

He  lifted  his  foot,  and  to  the  little  toe  there 
clung  the  head  of  the  half-killed  snake,  firm 
fixed  in  the  agony  of  death. 

"I  come  of  land-holding  stock,"  said  Ba- 
hadur Khan,  rocking  where  he  stood.  "It 
were  a  disgrace  for  me  to  go  to  the  public 
scaffold,  therefore  I  take  this  way.  Be  it  re- 
membered that  the  sahib's  shirts  are  correctly 
enumerated,  and  that  there  is  an  extra  piece 
of  soap  in  his  wash-basin.  My  child  was  be- 
witched, and  I  slew  the  wizard.  Why  should 
you  seek  to  slay  me?  My  honor  is  saved, 
and — and — I  die." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  died  as  they  die 
who  are  bitten  by  the  little  kariat,  and  the 
policemen  bore  him  and  the  thing  under  the 
table-cloth  to  their  appointed  places.  They 
were  needed  to  make  clear  the  disappearance 
of  Imray. 

"This,"  said  Strickland,  very  calmly,  as  he 
climbed  into  bed,  "is  called  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury.    Did  you  hear  what  that  man  said?" 


OF  IMRAY  77 

"I  heard,"  I  answered.  "Imray  made  a  mis- 
take." 

"Simply  and  solely  through  not  knowing  the 
nature  and  the  coincidence  of  a  little  seasonal 
fever.  Bahadur  Khan  has  been  with  him  for 
four  years." 

I  shudderd.  My  own  servant  had  been  with 
me  for  exactly  that  length  of  time.  When  I 
went  over  to  my  own  room  I  found  him  wait- 
ing, impassive  as  the  copper  head  on  a  penny, 
to  pull  off  my  boots. 

"What  has  befallen  Bahadur  Khan?"  said  I. 

"He  was  bitten  by  a  snake  and  died;  the 
rest  the  sahib  knows,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  how  much  of  the  matter  hast  thou 
known  ?" 

"As  much  as  might  be  gathered  from  one 
coming  in  the  twilight  to  seek  satisfaction. 
Gently,  sahib.     Let  me  pull  off  those  boots." 

I  had  just  settled  to  the  sleep  of  exhaustion 
when  I  heard  Strickland  shouting  from  his 
side  of  the  house  : 

"Tietjens  has  come  back  to  her  room!" 

And  so  she  had.  The  great  deerhound  was 
couched  on  her  own  bedstead,  on  her  own 
blanket,  and  in  the  next  room  the  idle,  empty 
ceiling-cloth  wagged  light-heartedly  as  it 
flailed  on  the  table. 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  coffee- 
planter  in  India  who  wished  to  clear 
some  forest  land  for  coffee-planting.  When 
he  had  cut  down  all  the  trees  and  burned  the 
underwood,  the  stumps  still  remained.  Dyna- 
mite is  expensive  and  slow  fire  slow. 
The  haj  py  medium  for  stump-clearing  is  the 
lord  of  all  beasts,  who  is  the  elephant.  He 
will  either  push  the  stump  out  of  the  ground 
with  his  tusks,  if  he  has  any,  or  drag  it  out 
with  ropes.  The  planter,  therefore,  hired 
elephants  by  ones  and  twos  and  threes,  and 
fell  to  work.  The  very  best  of  all  the  ele- 
phants belonged  to  the  very  worst  of  all  the 
drivers  or  mahouts;  and  this  superior  beast's 
name  was  Moti  Guj.  He  was  the  absolute 
property  of  his  mahout,  which  would  never 
have  been  the  case  under  native  rule ;  for  Moti 
Guj  was  a  creature  to  be  desired  by  kings,  and 
his  name,  being  translated,  meant  the  Pearl 
Elephant.  Because  the  British  government 
was  in  the  land,  Deesa,  the  mahout,  enjoyed 
his  property  undisturbed.  He  was  dissipated. 
81 


82  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

When  he  had  made  much  money  through  the 
strength  of  his  elephant,  he  would  get  extreme- 
ly drunk  and  give  Moti  Guj  a  beating  with 
a  tent-peg  over  the  tender  nails  of  the  fore- 
feet. Moti  Guj  never  trampled  the  life  out  of 
Deesa  on  these  occasions,  for  he  knew  that 
after  the  beating  was  over,  Deesa  would  em- 
brace his  trunk  and  weep  and  call  him  his  love 
and  his  life  and  the  liver  of  his  soul,  and  give 
him  some  liquor.  Moti  Guj  was  very  fond  of 
liquor — arrack  for  choice,  though  'ie  would 
drink  palm-tree  toddy  if  nothing  better  of- 
fered. Then  Deesa  would  go  to  sleep  between 
Moti  Guj's  forefeet,  and  as  Deesa  generally 
chose  the  middle  of  the  public  road,  and  as 
Moti  Guj  mounted  guard  over  him,  and  would 
not  permit  horse,  foot,  or  cart  to  pass  by,  traf- 
fic was  congested  till  Deesa  saw  fit  to  wake 
up. 

There  was  no  sleeping  in  the  daytime  on 
the  planter's  clearing :  the  wages  were  too  high 
to  risk.  Deesa  sat  on  Moti  Guj's  neck  and 
gave  him  orders,  while  Moti  Guj  rooted  up  the 
stumps — for  he  owned  a  magnificent  pair  of 
tusks;  or  pulled  at  the  end  of  a  rope — for  he 
had  a  magnificent  pair  of  shoulders — while 
Deesa  kicked  him  behind  the  ears  and  said  he 
was  the  king  of  elephants.     At  evening  time 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER  83 

Moti  Guj  would  wash  down  his  three  hundred 
pounds'  weight  of  green  food  with  a  quart  of 
arrack,  and  Deesa  would  take  a  share,  and  sing 
songs  between  Moti  Guj's  legs  till  it  was  time 
to  go  to  bed.  Once  a  week  Deesa  led  Moti 
Guj  down  to  the  river,  and  Moti  Guj  lay  on 
his  side  luxuriously  in  the  shallows,  while 
Deesa  went  over  him  with  a  coir  swab  and 
a  brick.  Moti  Guj  never  mistook  the  pound- 
ing blow  of  the  latter  for  the  smack  of  the 
former  that  warned  him  to  get  up  and  turn 
over  on  the  other  side.  Then  Deesa  would 
look  at  his  feet  and  examine  his  eyes,  and  turn 
up  the  fringes  of  his  mighty  ears  in  case  of 
sores  or  budding  ophthalmia.  After  inspec- 
tion the  two  would  "come  up  with  a  song  from 
the  sea,"  Moti  Guj,  all  black  and  shining,  wav- 
ing a  torn  tree  branch  twelve  feet  long  in  his 
trunk,  and  Deesa  knotting  up  his  own  long 
wet  hair. 

It  was  a  peaceful,  well-paid  life  till  Deesa 
felt  the  return  of  the  desire  to  drink  deep.  He 
wished  for  an  orgy.  The  little  draughts  that 
led  nowhere  were  taking  the  manhood  out  of 
him. 

He  went  to  the  planter,  and  "My  mother's 
dead,"  said  he,  weeping. 

"She  died  on  the  last  plantation,  two  months 


84  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

ago,  and  she  died  once  before  that  when  you 
were  working  for  me  last  year,"  said  the  plant- 
er, who  knew  something  of  the  ways  of  native- 
dom. 

"Then  it's  my  aunt,  and  she  was  just  the 
same  as  a  mother  to  me,"  said  Deesa,  weeping 
more  than  ever.  "She  has  left  eighteen  small 
children  entirely  without  bread,  and  it  is  I  who 
must  fill  their  little  stomachs,"  said  Deesa, 
beating  his  head  on  the  floor. 

"Who  brought  you  the  news?"  said  the 
planter. 

"The  post,"  said  Deesa. 

"There  hasn't  been  a  post  here  for  the  past 
week.     Get  back  to  your  lines!" 

"A  devastating  sickness  has  fallen  on  my 
village,  and  all  my  wives  are  dying,"  yelled 
Deesa,  really  in  tears  this  time. 

"Call  Chihun,  who  comes  from  Deesa's  vil- 
lage," said  the  planter.  "Chihun,  has  this 
man  got  a  wife?" 

"He?"  said  Chihun.  "No.  Not  a  woman 
of  our  village  would  look  at  him.  They'd 
sooner  marry  the  elephant." 

Chihun  snorted.     Deesa  wept  and  bellowed. 

"You  will  get  into  a  difficulty  in  a  minute," 
said  the  planter.     "Go  back  to  your  work!" 

"Now  I  will  speak  Heaven's  truth,"  gulped 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER  85 

Deesa,  with  an  inspiration.  "I  haven't  been 
drunk  for  two  months.  I  desire  to  depart  in 
order  to  get  properly  drunk  afar  off  and  dis- 
tant from  this  heavenly  plantation.  Thus  I 
shall  cause  no  trouble." 

A  flickering  smile  crossed  the  planter's  face. 
"Deesa,"  said  he,  "you  have  spoken  the  truth, 
and  I'd  give  you  leave  on  the  spot  if  anything 
could  be  done  with  Moti  Guj  while  you're 
away.  You  know  that  he  will  only  obey  your 
orders." 

"May  the  light  of  the  heavens  live  forty 
thousand  years.  I  shall  be  absent  but  ten 
little  days.  After  that,  upon  my  faith  and 
honor  and  soul,  I  retui  n.  As  to  the  inconsider- 
able interval,  have  I  the  gracious  permission 
of  the  heaven-born  to  call  up  Moti  Guj  ?" 

Permision  was  granted,  and  in  answer  to 
Deesa's  shrill  yell,  the  mighty  tusker  swung 
out  of  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  trees  where  he 
had  been  squirting  dust  over  himself  till  his 
master  should  return. 

"Light  of  my  heart,  protector  of  the  drunk- 
en, mountain  of  might,  give  ear!"  said  Deesa, 
standing  in  front  of  him. 

Moti  Guj  gave  ear,  and  saluted  with  his 
trunk.     "I  am  going  away,"  said  Deesa. 

Moti  Guj's  eyes  twinkled.     He  liked  jaunts 


86  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

as  well  as  his  master.  One  could  snatch  all 
manner  of  nice  things  from  the  roadside  then. 

"But  you,  you  fussy  old  pig,  must  stay  be- 
hind and  work." 

The  twinkle  died  out  as  Moti  Guj  tried  to 
look  delighted.  He  hated  stump-hauling  on 
the  plantation.     It  hurt  his  teeth. 

"I  shall  be  gone  for  ten  days,  oh.  delectable 
one!  Hold  up  your  near  forefeet  and  I'll  im- 
press the  fact  upon  it,  warty  toad  of  a  dried 
mud-puddle."  Deesa  took  a  tent-peg  and 
banged  Moti  Guj  ten  times  on  the  nails.  Moti 
Guj  grunted  and  shuffled  from  foot  to  foot. 

"Ten  days,"  said  Deesa,  "you  will  work  and 
haul  and  root  the  trees  as  Chihum  here  shall 
order  you.  Take  up  Chihun  and  set  him  on 
your  neck!"  Moti  Guj  curled  the  tip  of  his 
trunk,  Chihun  put  his  foot  there,  and  was 
swung  on  to  the  neck.  Deesa  handed  Chihun 
the  heavy  ankus — the  iron  elephant  goad. 

Chihun  thumped  Moti  Guj's  bald  head  as  a 
paver  thumps  a  curbstone. 

Moti  Guj  trumpeted. 

"Be  still,  hog  of  the  backwoods!  Chihun's 
your  mahout  for  ten  days.  And  now  bid  me 
good-bye,  beast  after  mine  own  heart.  Oh, 
mv  lord,  my  king!  Jewel  of  all  created  ele- 
phants, lily  of  the  herd,  preserve  your  honored 
health;  be  virtuous.     Adieu  J" 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER  87 

Moti  Guj  lapped  his  trunk  round  Deesa  and 
swung  him  into  the  air  twice.  That  was  his 
way  of  bidding  him  good-bye. 

"He'll  work  now,"  said  Deesa  to  the  planter. 
"Have  I  leave  to  go?" 

The  planter  nodded,  and  Deesa  dived  into 
the  woods.  Moti  Guj  went  back  to  haul 
stumps. 

Chihun  was  very  kind  to  him,  but  he  felt 
unhappy  and  forlorn  for  all  that.  Chihun 
gave  him  a  ball  of  spices,  and  tickled  him  un- 
der the  chin,  and  Chihun's"  little  baby  cooed  to 
him  after  the  work  was  over,  and  Chihun's 
wife  called  him  a  darling;  but  Moti  Guj  was  a 
bachelor  by  instinct,  as  Deesa  was.  He  did 
not  understand  the  domestic  emotions.  He 
wanted  the  light  of  his  universe  back  again — 
the  drink  and  the  drunken  slumber,  the  savage 
beatings  and  the  savage  caresses. 

None  the  less  he  worked  well,  and  the  plant- 
er wondered.  Deesa  had  wandered  along  the 
roads  till  he  met  a  marriage  procession  of  his 
own  caste,  and,  drinking,  dancing,  and  tippling, 
had  drifted  with  it  past  all  knowledge  of  the 
lapse  of  time. 

The  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  dawned, 
and  there  returned  no  Deesa.  Moti  Guj  was 
loosened  from  his  ropes  for  the  daily  stint.  He 


88  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

swung  clear,  looked  round,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  began  to  walk  away,  as  one 
hr.ving  business  elesewhere. 

"Hi!  ho!  Come  back  you!"  shouted  Chi- 
hun.  "Come  back  and  put  me  on  your  neck, 
misborn  mountain!  Return,  splendor  of  the 
hillsides!  Adornment  of  all  India,  heave  to, 
or  I'll  bang  every  toe  off  your  fat  forefoot!" 

Moti  Guj  gurgled  gently,  but  did  not  obey. 
Chihun  ran  after  him  with  a  rope  and  caught 
him  up.  Moti  Guj  put  his  ears  forward,  and 
Chihun  knew  what  that  meant,  though  he  tried 
to  carry  it  off  with  high  words. 

"None  of  your  nonsense  with  me,"  said  he. 
"To  your  pickets,  devil-son!" 

"Hrrump!"  said  Moti  Guj,  and  that  was  all 
— that  and  the  forebent  ears. 

Moti  Guj  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  chew- 
ed a  branch  for  a  toothpick,  and  strolled  about 
the  clearing,  making  fun  of  the  other  elephants 
who  had  just  set  to  work. 

Chihun  reported  the  state  of  affairs  to  the 
planter,  who  came  out  with  a  dog-whip  and 
cracked  it  furiously.  Moti  Guj  paid  the  white 
man  the  compliment  of  charging  him  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  across  the  clearing  and 
"Hrrumphing"  him  into  his  veranda.  Then 
he  sto^d  outside  the  house,  chuckling  to  him- 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER  89 

self,  and  shaking  all  over  with  the  fun  of  it,  as 
an  elephant  will. 

"We'll  thrash  him,"  said  the  planter.  "He 
shall  have  the  finest  thrashing  ever  elephant  re- 
ceived. Give  Kala  Nag  and  Nazim  twelve 
foot  of  chain  apiece,  and  tell  them  to  lay  on 
twenty." 

Kala  Nag — which  means  Black  Snake — and 
Nazim  were  two  of  the  biggest  elephants  in 
the  lines,  and  one  of  their  duties  was  to  admin- 
ister the  graver  punishment,  since  no  man  can 
beat  an  elephant  properly. 

They  took  the  whipping-chains  and  rattled 
them  in  their  trunks  as  they  sidled  up  to  Moti 
Guj,  meaning  to  hustle  him  between  them. 
Moti  Guj  had  never,  in  all  his  life  of  thirty- 
nine  years,  been  whipped,  and  he  did  not  intend 
to  begin  a  new  experience.  So  he  waited,  waiv- 
ing his  head  from  right  to  left  and  measuring 
the  precise  spot  in  Kala  Nag's  fat  side 
where  a  blunt  tusk  could  sink  deepest.  Kala 
Nag  had  no  tusks ;  the  chain  was  the  badge  of 
his  authority;  but  for  all  that,  he  swung  wide 
of  Moti  Guj  at  the  last  minute,  and  tried  to 
appear  as  if  he  had  brought  the  chain  out  for 
amusement.  Nazim  turned  round  and  went 
home  early.  He  did  not  feel  fighting  fit  that 
morning,  and  so  Moti  Guj  was  left  standing 
alone  with  his  ears  cocked. 


90  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

That  decided  the  planter  to  argue  no  more, 
and  Moti  Guj  rolled  back  to  his  amateur  in- 
spection of  the  clearing.  An  elephant  who 
will  not  work  and  is  not  tied  up  is  about  as 
manageable  as  an  eighty-one-ton  gun  loose  in 
a  heavy  seaway.  He  slapped  old  friends  on 
the  back  and  asked  them  if  the  stumps  were 
coming  away  easily;  he  talked  nonsense  con- 
cerning labor  and  the  inalienable  rights  of 
elephants  to  a  long  "nooning" ;  and,  wander- 
ing to  and  fro,  he  thoroughly  demoralized  the 
garden  till  sundown,  when  he  returned  to  his 
picket  for  food. 

"If  you  won't  work  you  shan't  eat,"  said 
Chihun,  angrily.  "You're  a  wild  elephant, 
and  no  educated  animal  at  all.  Go  back  to 
your  jungle." 

Chihun's  little  brown  baby  was  rolling  on 
the  floor  of  the  hut,  and  stretching  out  its  fat 
arms  to  the  huge  shadow  in  the  doorway.  Moti 
Guj  knew  well  that  it  was  the  dearest  thing  on 
earth  to  Chihun.  He  swung  out  his  trunk 
with  a  fascinating  crook  at  the  end,  and  the 
brown  baby  threw  itself,  shouting,  upon  it. 
Moti  Guj  made  fast  and  pulled  up  till  the 
brown  baby  was  crowing  in  the  air  twelve  feet 
above  his  father's  head. 

"Great  Lord!"  said  Chihun.     "Flour  cakes 


MOTI  GU J— MUTINEER  91 

of  the  best,  twelve  in  number,  two  feet  across 
and  soaked  in  rum,  shall  be  yours  on  the  in- 
stant, and  two  hundred  pounds  weight  of 
fresh-cut  young  sugar-cane  therewith.  Deign 
only  to  put  down  safely  that  insignificant  brat 
who  is  my  heart  and  my  life  to  me !" 

Moti  Guj  tucked  the  brown  baby  comfort- 
ably between  his  forefeet,  that  could  have 
knocked  into  toothpicks  all  Chihun's  hut,  and 
waited  for  his  food.  He  eat  it,  and  the  brown 
baby  crawled  away.  Moti  Guj  dozed  and 
thought  of  Deesa.  One  of  many  mysteries 
connected  with  the  elephant  is  that  his  huge 
body  needs  less  sleep  than  anything  else  that 
lives.  Four  or  five  hours  in  the  night  suffice 
— two  just  before  midnight,  lying  down  on 
one  side;  two  just  after  one  o'clock,  lying 
down  on  the  other.  The  rest  of  the  silent 
hours  are  filled  with  eating  and  fidgeting,  and 
long  grumbling  soliloquies. 

At  midnight,  therefore,  Moti  Guj  strode 
out  of  his  pickets,  for  a  thought  had  come  to 
him  that  Deesa  might  be  lying  drunk  some- 
where in  the  dark  forest  with  none  to  look 
after  him.'  So  all  that  night  he  chased 
through  the  undergrowth,  blowing  and  trum- 
peting and  shaking  his  ears.  He  went  down 
to  the  river  and  blared  across  the  shallows 


92  MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER 

where  Dessa  used  to  wash  him,  but  there  was 
no  answer.  He  could  not  find  Deesa,  but  he 
disturbed  all  the  other  elephants  in  the  lines, 
and  nearly  frightened  to  death  some  gypsies  in 
the  woods. 

At  dawn  Deesa  returned  to  the  plantation. 
He  had  been  very  drunk  indeed,  and  he  ex- 
pected to  get  into  trouble  for  outstaying  his 
leave.  He  drew  a  long  breath  when  he  saw 
that  the  bungalow  and  the  plantation  were 
still  uninjured,  for  he  knew  something  of  Moti 
Guj's  temper,  and  reported  himself  with  many 
lies  and  salaams.  Moti  Guj  had  gone  to  his 
pickets  for  breakfast.  The  night  exercise  had 
made  him  hungry. 

"Call  up  your  beast,"  said  the  planter;  and 
Deesa  shouted  in  the  mysterious  elephant  lan- 
guage that  some  mahouts  believe  came  from 
China  at  the  birth  of  the  world,  when  ele- 
phants and  not  men  were  masters.  Moti  Guj 
heard  and  came.  Elephants  do  not  gallop. 
They  move  from  places  of  varying  rates  of 
speed.  If  an  elephant  wished  to  catch  an  ex- 
press train  he  could  not  gallop,  but  he  could 
catch  the  train.  So  Moti  Guj  was  at  the 
planter's  door  almost  before  Chihun  noticed 
that  he  had  left  his  pickets.  He  fell  into 
Deesa's  arms  trumpeting  with  joy,   and  the 


MOTI  GUJ— MUTINEER  93 

man  and  the  beast  wept  and  slobbered  over 
each  other,  and  handled  each  other  from  head 
to  heel  to  see  that  no  harm  had  befallen. 

"Now  we  will  get  to  work,"  said  Deesa. 
"Lift  me  up,  my  son  and  my  joy!" 

Moti  Guj  swung  him  up,  and  the  two  went 
to  the  coffee-clearing  to  look  for  difficult 
stumps. 

The  planter  was  too  astonished  to  be  very 
angry. 


THE  MUTINY  OF  THE  MAVERICKS 

WHEN  three  obscure  gentlemen  in  San 
Francisco  argued  on  insufficient  pre- 
mises, they  condemned  a  fellow-creature  to  a 
most  unpleasant  death  in  a  far  country  which 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  United 
States.  They  foregathered  at  the  top  of  a 
tenement-house  in  Tehama  Street,  an  unsa- 
vory quarter  of  the  city,  and  there  calling  for 
certain  drinks,  they  conspired  because  they 
were  conspirators  by  trade,  officially  known  as 
the  Third  Three  of  the  I.  A.  A. — an  institution 
for  the  propagation  of  pure  light,  not  to  be 
confounded  with  any  others,  though  it  is  affi- 
liated to  many.  The  Second  Three  live  in 
Montreal  and  work  among  the  poor  there ;  the 
First  Three  have  their  home  in  New  York, 
not  far  from  Castle  Garden,  and  write  regu- 
larly once  a  week  to  a  small  house  near  one 
of  the  big  hotels  at  Boulogne.  What  happens 
after  that,  a  particular  section  of  Scotland 
Yard  knows  too  well  and  laughs  at.  A 
conspirator  detests  ridicule.  More  men  have 
been  stabbed  with  Lucrezia  Borgia  daggers 
and  dropped  into  the  Thames  for  laughing  at 

27 


) 


98  THE  MUTINY  OF 

head  centres  and  triangles  than  for  betraying 
secrets;  for  this  is  human  nature. 

The  Third  Three  conspired  over  whisky 
cocktails  and  a  clean  sheet  of  note-paper 
against  the  British  Empire  and  all  that  lay 
therein.  This  work  is  very  like  what  men 
without  discernment  call  politics  before  a  gen- 
eral election.  You  pick  out  and  discuss  in  the 
company  of  congenial  friends  all  the  weak 
points  in  your  opponents'  organization,  and 
unconsciously  dwell  upon  and  exaggerate  all 
their  mishaps,  till  it  seems  to  you  a  miracle  that 
the  party  holds  together  for  an  hour. 

"Our  principle  is  not  so  much  active  de- 
monstration— that  we  leave  to  others. — as  pas- 
sive embarrassment  to  weaken  and  unnerve," 
said  the  first  man.  "Wherever  an  organiza- 
tion is  crippled,  wherever  a  confusion  is 
thrown  into  any  branch  of  any  department, 
we  gain  a  step  for  those  who  take  on  the 
work;  we  are  but  the  forerunners."  He  was 
a  German  enthusiast,  and  editor  of  a  news- 
paper, from  whose  leading  articles  he  quoted 
frequently. 

"That  cursed  empire  makes  so  many  blun- 
ders of  her  own  that  unless  we  doubled  the 
year's  average  I  guess  it  wouldn't  strike  her 
anything  special  had  occurred,"  said  the  sec- 


THE  MAVERICKS  99 

ond  man.  "Are  you  prepared  to  say  that  all 
our  resources  are  equal  to  blowing  off  the 
muzzle  of  a  hundred-ton  gun  or  spiking  a  ten- 
thousand-ton  ship  on  a  plain  rock  in  clear  day- 
light? They  can  beat  us  at  our  own  game. 
Better  join  hands  with  the  practical  branches; 
we're  in  funds  now.  Try  and  direct  a  scare 
in  a  crowded  street.  They  value  their  greasy 
hides."  He  was  the  drag  upon  the  wheel,  and 
an  Americanized  Irishman  of  the  second  gen- 
eration, despising  his  own  race  and  hating  the 
other.     He  had  learned  caution. 

The  third  man  drank  his  cocktail  and  spoke 
no  word.  He  was  the  strategist,  but  unfor- 
tunately his  knowledge  of  life  was  limited.  He 
picked  a  letter  from  his  breast-pocket  and 
threw  it  across  the  table.  That  epistle  to  the 
heathen  contained  some  very  concise  direc- 
tions from  the  First  Three  in  New  York.  It 
said: 

"The  boom  in  black  iron  has  already  affect- 
ed the  eastern  markets,  where  our  agents  have 
been  forcing  down  the  English-held  stock 
among  the  smaller  buyers  who  watch  the  turn 
of  shares.  Any  immediate  operations,  such 
as  western  bears,  would  increase  their  willing- 
ness to  unload.  This,  however,  cannot  be  ex- 
pected till  they  see  clearly  that  foreign  iron- 


ioo  THE  MUTINY  OF 

masters  are  willing  to  co-operate.  Mulcahy 
should  be  dispatched  to  feel  the  pulse  of  the 
market,  and  act  accordingly.  Mavericks  are  at 
present  the  best  for  our  purpose. — P.  D.  Q." 

As  a  message  referring  to  an  iron  crisis  in 
Pennsylvania  it  was  interesting,  if  not  lucid. 
As  a  new  departure  in  organized  attack  on  an 
outlying  English  dependency,  it  was  more  than 
interesting. 

The  first  man  read  it  through,  and  mur- 
mured : 

"Already?  Surely  they  are  in  too  great  a 
hurry.  All  that  Dhulip  Singh  could  do  in 
India  he  has  done,  down  to  the  distribution  of 
his  photographs  among  the  peasantry.  Ho! 
Ho!  The  Paris  firm  arranged  that,  and  he 
has  no  substantial  money  backing  from  the 
Other  Power.  Even  our  agents  in  India 
know  he  hasn't.  What  is  the  use  of  our  or- 
ganization wasting  men  on  work  that  is  al- 
ready done?  Of  course,  the  Irish  regiments 
in  India  are  half  mutinous  as  they  stand." 

This  shows  how  near  a  lie  may  come  to  the 
truth.  An  Irish  regiment,  for  just  so  long  as 
it  stands  still,  is  generally  a  hard  handful  to 
control,  being  reckless  and  rough.  When, 
however,  it  is  moved  in  the  direction  of  mus- 
ketry-fire, it  becomes  strangely  and  unpatriot- 


THE  MAVERICKS  101 

ically  content  with  its  lot.  It  has  even  been 
heard  to  cheer  the  queen  with  enthusiasm  on 
these  occasions. 

But  the  notion  of  tampering  with  the  army 
was,  from  the  point  of  view  of  Tehama  Street, 
an  altogether  sound  one.  There  is  no  shadow 
of  stability  in  the  policy  of  an  English  govern- 
ment, and  the  most  sacred  oaths  of  England 
would,  even  if  embossed  on  vellum,  find  very 
few  buyers  among  colonies  and  dependencies 
that  have  suffered  from  vain  beliefs.  But 
there  remains  to  England  always  her  army. 
That  cannot  change,  except  in  the  matter  of 
uniform  and  equipment.  The  officers  may 
write  to  the  papers  demanding  the  heads  of  the 
Horse  Guards  in  default  of  cleaner  redress  for 
grievances ;  the  men  may  break  loose  across  a 
country  town,  and  seriously  startle  the  pub- 
licans, but  neither  officers  nor  men  have  it  in 
their  composition  to  mutiny  after  the  Contin- 
ental manner.  The  English  people,  when 
they  trouble  to  think  about  the  army  at  all,  are, 
and  with  justice,  absolutely  assured  that  it  is 
absolutely  trustworthy.  Imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment their  emotions  on  realizing  that  such  and 
such  a  regiment  was  in  open  revolt  from 
causes  directly  due  to  England's  management 
of   Ireland.     They  would  probably  send  the 


102  THE  MUTINY  OF 

regiment  to  the  polls  forthwith,  and  examine 
their  own  consciences  as  to  their  duty  to  Erin, 
but  they  would  never  be  easy  any  more.  And 
it  was  this  vague,  unhappy  mistrust  that  the 
I.  A.  A.  was  laboring  to  produce. 

"Sheer  waste  of  breath,"  said  the  second. 
man,  after  a  pause  in  the  council.  "I  don't 
see  the  use  of  tampering  with  their  fool-army, 
but  it  has  been  tried  before,  and  we  must  try 
it  again.  It  looks  well  in  the  reports.  If  we 
send  one  man  from  here,  you  may  bet  your 
life  that  other  men  are  going  too.  Order  up 
Mulcahy." 

They  ordered  him  up — a  slim,  slight,  dark- 
haired  young  man,  devoured  with  that  blind, 
rancorous  hatred  of  England  that  only  reaches 
its  full  growth  across  the  Atlantic.  He  had 
sucked  it  from  his  mother's  breast  in  the  little 
cabin  at  the  back  of  the  northern  avenues  of 
New  York;  he  had  been  taught  his  rights  and 
his  wrongs,  in  German  and  Irish,  on  the  canal 
fronts  of  Chicago;  and  San  Francisco  held 
men  who  told  him  strange  and  awful  things 
of  the  great  blind  power  over  the  seas.  Once, 
when  business  took  him  across  the  Atlantic, 
he  had  served  in  an  English  regiment,  and 
being  insubordinate,  had  suffered  extremely. 
He  drew  all  his  ideas  of  England  that  were 


THE  MAVERICKS  103 

not  bred  by  the  cheaper  patriotic  print,  from 
one  iron-fisted  colonel  and  an  unbending  ad- 
jutant. He  would  go  to  the  mines  if  need 
be  to  teach  his  gospel.  And  he  went  as  his  in- 
structions advised  p.  d.  q. — which  means  "with 
speed" — to  introduce  embarrassment  into  an 
Irish  regiment,  "already  half  mutinous,  quar- 
tered among  Sikh  peasantry,  all  wearing  min- 
iatures of  His  Highness  Dhulip  Singh,  Ma- 
haraja of  the  Punjab,  next  their  hearts,  and 
all  eagerly  expecting  his  arrival."  Other  in- 
formation equally  valuable  was  given  him  by 
his  masters.  He  was  to  be  cautious,  but  never 
to  grudge  expense  in  winning  the  hearts  of  the 
men  in  the  regiment.  His  mother  in  New 
York  would  supply  funds,  and  he  was  to  write 
to  her  once  a  month.  Life  is  pleasant  for  a 
man  who  has  a  mother  in  New  York  to  send 
him  £200  a  year  over  and  above  his  regimental 
pay. 

In  process  of  time,  thanks  to  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  drill  and  musketry  exercise,  the 
excellent  Mulcahy,  wearing  the  corporal's 
stripe,  went  out  in  a  troop-ship  and  joined 
Her  Majesty's  Royal  Loyal  Musketeers,  com- 
monly known  as  the  "Mavericks,"  because 
they  were  masterless  and  unbranded  cattle — 
sons  of  small  farmers  in  County  Clare,  shoe- 


104  THE  MUTINY  OF 

less  vagabonds  of  Kerry,  herders  of  Ballyve- 
gan,  much  wanted  "moonlighters"  from  the 
bare  rainy  headlands  of  the  south  coast,  offi- 
cered by  O'Mores,  Bradys,  Hills,  Kilreas,  and 
the  like.  Never,  to  outward  seeming,  was 
there  more  promising  material  to  work  on.  The 
First  Three  had  chosen  their  regiment  well. 
It  feared  nothing  that  moved  or  talked  save 
the  colonel  and  the  regimental  Roman  Catholic 
chaplain,  the  fat  Father  Dennis,  who  held  the 
keys  of  heaven  and  hell,  and  glared  like  an 
angry  bull  when  he  desired  to  be  convincing. 
Him  also  it  loved  because  on  occasions  of 
stress  he  was  wont  to  tuck  up  his  cassock  and 
charge  with  the  rest  into  the  merriest  of  the 
fray,  where  he  always  found,  good  man,  that 
the  saints  sent  him  a  revolver  when  there  was 
a  fallen  private  to  be  protected  or — but  this 
came  as  an  after-thought — his  own  grey  head 
to  be  guarded. 

Cautiously  as  he  had  been  instructed,  ten- 
derly and  with  much  beer,  Mulcahy  opened 
his  projects  to  such  as  he  deemed  fittest  to  list- 
en. And  these  were,  one  and  all,  of  that 
quaint,  crooked,  sweet,  profoundly  irrespon- 
sible, and  profoundly  lovable  race  that  fight 
like  fiends,  argue  like  children,  reason  like 
women,  obey  like  men,  and  jest  like  their  own 


THE  MAVERICKS  105 

goblins  of  the  wrath  through  rebellion,  loyalty, 
want,  woe,  or  war.  The  underground  work 
of  a  conspiracy  is  always  dull,  and  very  much 
the  same  the  world  over.  At  the  end  of  six 
months — the  seed  always  falling  on  good 
ground — Mulcahy  spoke  almost  explicitly, 
hinting  darkly  in  the  approved  fashion  at 
dread  powers  behind  him,  and  advising  noth- 
ing more  nor  less  than  mutiny.  Were  they 
not  dogs,  evily  treated?  had  they  not  all  their 
own  and  the  natural  revenges  to  satisfy?  Who 
in  these  days  could  do  aught  to  nine  hundred 
men  in  rebellion?  who,  again,  could  stay  them 
if  they  broke  for  the  sea,  licking  up  on  their 
way  other  regiments  only  too  anxious  to  join? 
And  afterward  .  .  .  here  followed  windy 
promises  of  gold  and  preferment,  office  and 
honor,  ever  dear  to  a  certain  type  of  Irish- 
man. 

As  he  finished  his  speech,  in  the  dusk  of  a 
twilight,  to  his  chosen  associates,  there  was  a 
sound  of  a  rapidly  unslung  belt  behind  him. 
The  arm  of  one  Dan  Grady  flew  out  in  the 
gloom  and  arrested  something.  Then  said 
Dan: 

"Mulcahy,  you're  a  great  man,  an'  you  do 
credit  to  whoever  sent  you.  Walk  about  a 
bit  while  we  think  of  it."  Mulcahy  departed 
elated.     He  knew  his  words  would  sink  deep. 


106  THE  MUTINY  OF 

"Why  the  triple-dashed  asterisks  did  ye  not 
let  me  curl  the  tripes  out  of  him?"  grunted  a 
voice. 

"Because  I'm  not  a  fat-headed  fool.  Boys, 
'tis  what  he's  been  driving  at  these  six  months 
• — our  superior  corpril,  with  his  education,  and 
his  copies  of  the  Irish  papers,  and  his  everlast- 
ing beer.  He's  been  sent  for  the  purpose,  and 
that's  where  the  money  comes  from.  Can 
ye  not  see?  That  man's  a  gold-mine,  which 
Horse  Egan  here  would  have  destroyed  with 
a  belt-buckle.  It  would  be  throwing  away  the 
gifts  of  Providence  not  to  fall  in  with  his  little 
plans.  Of  course  we'll  mutiny  till  all's  dry. 
Shoot  the  colonel  on  the  parade-ground,  mas- 
sacre the  company  officers,  ransack  the  arsenal, 
and  then — boys,  did  he  tell  you  what  next? 
He  told  me  the  other  night,  when  he  was 
beginning  to  talk  wild.  Then  we're  to  join 
with  the  niggers,  and  look  for  help  from  Dhu- 
'ip  Singh  and  the  Russians !" 

"And  spoil  the  best  campaign  that  ever  was 
this  side  of  hell!  Danny,  I'd  have  lost  the 
beer  to  ha'  given  him  the  belting  he  requires." 

"Oh,  let  him  go  this  awhile,  man!  He's 
got  no — no  constructiveness ;  but  that's  the 
egg-meat  of  his  plan,  and  you  must  under- 
stand that  I'm  in  with  it,  an'  so  are  you.  We'll 


THE  MAVERICKS  107 

want  oceans  of  beer  to  convince  us — firma- 
ments full  We'll  give  him  talk  for  his  money, 
and  one  by  one  all  the  boys '11  come  in,  and 
he'll  have  a  nest  of  nine  hundred  mutineers  to 
squat  in  an'  give  drink  to." 

"What  makes  me  killing  mad  is  his  wanting 
us  to  do  what  the  niggers  did  thirty  years  gone. 
That  an'  his  pig's  cheek  in  saying  that  other 
regiments  would  come  along,"  said  a  Kerry 
man. 

'That's  not  so  bad  as  hintin'  we  should 
loose  off  at  the  colonel." 

"Colonel  be  sugared!  I'd  as  soon  as  not  put 
a  shot  through  his  helmet,  to  see  him  jump 
and  clutch  his  old  horse's  head.  But  Mulcahy 
talks  o'  shootin'  our  comp'ny  orf'cers  accident- 
al." 

"He  said  that,  did  he?"  said  Horse  Egan. 

"Somethin'  like  that,  anyways.  Can't  ye 
fancy  ould  Barber  Brady  with  a  bullet  in  his 
lungs,  coughin'  like  a  sick  monkey  an'  savin' : 
'Bhoys,  I  do  not  mind  your  gettin'  dhrunk,  but 
you  must  hould  your  liquor  like  men.  The 
man  that  shot  me  is  dhrunk.  I'll  suspend  in- 
vestigations for  six  hours,  while  I  get  this  bul- 
let cut  out,  and  then*  " — 

"An'  then,"  continued  Horse  Egan,  for  the 
peppery   major's   peculiarities   of   speech   and 


108  THE  MUTINY  OF 

manner  were  as  well  known  as  his  tanned  face 
— "an'  then,  ye  dissolute,  half-baked,  putty- 
faced  scum  o'  Connemara,  if  I  find  a  man  so 
much  as  lookin'  confused,  bedad  I'll  coort- 
martial  the  whole  company.  A  man  that 
can't  get  over  his  liquor  in  six  hours  is  not  fit 
to  belong  to  the  Mavericks!" 

A  shout  of  laughter  bore  witness  to  the 
truth  of  the  sketch. 

"It's  pretty  to  think  of,"  said  the  Kerry  man 
slowly.  "Mulcahy  would  have  us  do  all  the 
devilment,  and  get  clear  himself,  someways. 
He  wudn't  be  takin'  all  this  fool's  throuble  in 
shpoilin'  the  reputation  of  the  regiment." 

"Reputation  of  your  grandmother's  pig!" 
said  Dan. 

"Well,  an'  he  had  a  good  reputation  too ;  so 
it's  all  right.  Mulcahy  must  see  his  way  clear 
out  behind  him,  or  he'd  not  ha'  come  so  far, 
talkin'  powers  of  darkness." 

"Did  you  hear  anything  of  a  regimental 
courtmartial  among  the  Black  Boneens,  these 
days?  Half  a  company  of  'em  took  one  of 
the  new  draft  an'  hanged  him  by  his  arms  with 
a  tent-rope  from  a  third-story  veranda.  They 
gave  no  reason  for  so  doin',  but  he  was  half 
dead.  I'm  thinking  that  the  Boneens  are 
short-sighted.     It  was  a  friend  of  Mulcahy's 


THE  MAVERICKS  109 

or  a  man  in  the  same  trade.  They'd  a  deal 
better  ha'  taken  his  beer/'  returned  Dan,  re- 
flectively. 

"Better  still  ha'  handed  him  up  to  the  colo- 
nel," said  Horse  Egan,  "onless —  But  sure  the 
news  wud  be  all  over  the  counthry  an'  give 
the  regiment  a  bad  name." 

"An'  there'd  be  no  reward  for  that  man — 
but  he  went  about  talkin',"  said  the  Kerry 
man,  artlessly. 

"You  speak  by  your  breed,"  said  Dan,  with 
a  laugh.  "There  was  never  a  Kerry  man  yet 
that  wudn't  sell  his  brother  for  a  pipe  o'  to- 
bacco an'  a  pat  on  the  back  from  a  policeman.'1" 

"Thank  God  I'm  not  a  bloomin'  Orange- 
man," was  the  answer. 

"No,  nor  never  will  be,"  said  Dan.  "They 
breed  men  in  Ulster.  Would  you  like  to  thry 
the  taste  of  one?" 

The  Kerry  man  looked  and  longed,  but  for- 
bore.    The  odds  of  the  battle  were  too  great. 

"Then  you'll  not  even  give  Mulcahy  a — a 
strike  for  his  money,"  said  the  voice  of  Horse 
Egan,  who  regarded  what  he  called  "trouble" 
of  any  kind  as  the  pinnacle  of  felicity. 

Dan  answered  not  at  all,  but  crept  on  tiptoe, 
with  large  strides,  to  the  mess-room,  the  men 
following.     The   room   was   empty.        In    a 


no  THE  MUTINY  OF 

corner,  cased  like  the  King  of  Dahomey's  state 
umbrella,  stood  the  regimental  colors.  Dan 
lifted  them  tenderly,  and  unrolled  in  the  light 
of  the  candles  the  record  of  the  Mavericks — ■ 
tattered,  worn,  and  hacked.  The  white  satin 
was  darkened  everywhere  with  big  brown 
stains,  the  gold  threads  on  the  crowned  harp 
were  frayed  and  discolored,  and  the  red  bull, 
the  totem  of  the  Mavericks,  was  coffee-hued. 
The  stiff,  embroidered  folds,  whose  price  is 
human  life,  rustled  down  slowly.  The  Mave- 
ricks keep  their  colors  long  and  guard  them 
very  sacredly. 

"Vittoria,  Salamanca,  Toulouse,  Waterloo, 
Moodkee,  Ferozshah,  and  Sobraon — that  was 
fought  close  next  door  here,  against  the  very 
beggars  he  wants  us  to  join.  Inkerman,  the 
Alma,  Sebastopol !  What  are  those  little  busi- 
nesses compared  to  the  campaigns  of  General 
Mulcahy?  The  mut'rv,  think  o'  that;  the 
mut'ny  an'  some  dirty  little  matters  in  Afghan- 
istan, and  for  that  an*  these  and  those" — Dan 
pointed  to  the  names  of  glorious  battles — 
"that  Yankee  man  with  the  partin'  in  his  hair 
comes  and  says  as  easy  as  'have  a  drink'  .  .  . 
Holy  Moses !  there's  the  captain !" 

But  it  was  the  mess-sergeant  who  came  in 
just  as  the  men  clattered  out,  and  found  the 
colors  uncased. 


THE  MAVERICKS  III 

From   that   day   dated   the   mutiny   of   the 
Mavericks,   to   the  joy  of   Mulcahy   and  the 
pride  of  his  mother  in  New  York — the  good 
lady  who  sent  the  money  for  the  beer.    Never, 
as  far  as  words  went,  was  such  a  mutiny.  The 
conspirators,   led  by   Dan  Grady   and   Horse 
Egan  poured  in  daily.     They  were  sound  men, 
men  to  be  trusted,  and  they  all  wanted  blood; 
but  first  they  must  have  beer.     They  cursed 
the  queen,  they  mourned  over  Ireland,  they 
suggested    hideous    plunder    of    the    Indian 
country-side,    and    then,    alas!    some    of    the 
younger  men  would  go  forth  and  wallow  on 
the  ground  in  spasms  of  unholy  laughter.  The 
genius  of  the  Irish  for  conspiracies  is  remark- 
able.    None  the  less,   they   would   swear  no 
oaths  but  those  of  their  own  making,  which 
were  rare  and  curious,  and  they  were  always 
at  pains  to  impress  Mulcahy  with  the  risks 
they  ran.  Naturally  the  flood  of  beer  wrought 
demoralization.       But  Mulcahy  confused  the 
causes  of  things,  and  when  a  pot-valiant  Ma- 
verick smote  a  servant  on  the  nose  or  called 
his  commanding  officer  a  bald-headed  old  lard- 
Madder,  and  even  worse  names,  he  fancied  that 
rebellion  and  not  liquor  was  at  the  bottom  of 
She.  outbreak.  Other  gentlemen  who  have  con- 
cerned themselves  in  larger  conspiracies  have 
made  the  same  error. 


112  THE  MUTINY  OF 

The  hot  season,  in  which  they  protested  no 
man  could  rebel,  came  to  an  end,  and  Mulcahy 
suggested  a  visible  return  for  his  teachings.  As 
to  the  actual  upshot  of  the  mutiny,  he  cared 
nothing.  It  would  be  enough  if  the  English, 
infatuatedly  trusting  to  the  integrity  of  their 
army,  should  be  startled  with  news  of  an  Irish 
regiment  revolting  from  political  considera- 
tions. His  persistent  demands  would  have 
ended,  at  Dan's  instigation,  in  a  regimental 
belting  which  in  all  probability  would  have 
killed  him  and  cut  off  the  supply  of  beer,  had 
not  he  been  sent  on  special  duty  some  fifty 
miles  away  from  the  cantonment  to  cool  his 
heels  in  a  mud  fort  and  dismount  obsolete  ar- 
tillery. Then  the  colonel  of  the  Mavericks, 
reading  his  newspaper  diligently  and  scenting 
frontier  trouble  from  afar,  posted  to  the  army 
headquarters  and  pleaded  with  the  commander- 
in-chief  for  certain  privileges,  to  be  granted 
under  certain  contingencies;  which  contingen- 
cies came  about  only  a  week  later  when  the  an- 
nual little  war  on  the  border  developed  itself 
and  the  colonel  returned  to  carry  the  good 
news  to  the  Mavericks.  He  held  the  promise 
of  the  chief  for  active  service,  and  the  men 
must  get  ready. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Mulcahy, 


THE  MAVERICKS  113 

an  unconsidered  corporal— yet  great  in  con- 
spiracy— returned  to  cantonments,  and  heard 
sounds  of  strife  and  howlings  from  afar  off. 
The  mutiny  had  broken  out,  and  the  barracks 
of  the  Mavericks  were  one  whitewashed  pan- 
demonium. A  private  tearing  through  the 
barrack  square  gasped  in  his  ear:  "Service! 
Active  service!  It's  a  burnin'  shame."  Oh, 
joy,  the  Mavericks  had  risen  on  the  eve  of 
battle !  They  would  not — noble  and  loyal  sons 
of  Ireland! — serve  the  queen  longer.  The 
news  would  flash  through  the  country-side  and 
over  to  England,  and  he — Mulcahy — the 
trusted  of  the  Third  Three,  had  brought  about 
the  crash.  The  private  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  square  and  cursed  colonel,  regiment,  offi- 
cers, and  doctor,  particularly  the  doctor,  by 
his  gods.  An  orderly  of  the  native  cavalry 
regiment  clattered  through  the  mob  of  soldiers. 
He  was  half  lifted,  half  dragged  from  his 
horse,  beaten  on  the  back  with  mighty  hand- 
claps till  his  eyes  watered,  and  called  all  man- 
ner of  endearing  names.  Yes,  the  Mavericks 
had  fraternized  with  the  native  troops.  Who, 
then,  was  the  agent  among  the  latter  that  had 
blindly  wrought  with  Mulcahy  so  well? 

An  officer  slunk,  almost  ran,  from  the  mess 
to  a  barrack.     He  was  mobbed  by  the  infuri- 


114  THE  MUTINY  OF 

ated  soldiery,  who  closed  round  but  did  not 
kill  him,  for  he  fought  his  way  to  shelter,  fly- 
ing for  his  life.  Mulcahy  could  have  wept 
with  pure  joy  and  thankfulness.  The  very 
prisoners  in  the  guard-room  were  shaking  the 
bars  of  their  cells  and  howling  like  wild  beasts, 
and  from  every  barrack  poured  the  booming  as 
of  a  big  war-drum. 

Mulcahy  hastened  to  his  own  barrack.  He 
could  hardly  hear  himself  speak.  Eighty  men 
were  pounding  with  fist  and  heel  the  tables 
and  trestles — eighty  men  flushed  with  mutiny, 
stripped  to  their  shirt-sleeves,  their  knapsacks 
half -packed  for  the  march  to  the  sea,  made 
the  two-inch  boards  thunder  again  as  they 
chanted  to  a  tune  that  Mulcahy  knew  well,  the 
Sacred  War  Song  of  the  Mavericks : 

"Listen  in  the  north,  my  boys,  there's  trouble  on  the 
wind : 
Tramp  o'  Cossack's  hoofs  in  front,  grey  great-coats 

behind, 
Trouble  on  the  frontier  of  a  most  amazin'  kind, 
Trouble  on  the  water  o'  the  Oxus !" 

Then  as  a  table  broke  under  the  furious  ac- 
companiment : 

"Hurrah !  hurrah !  it's  north  by  west  we  go ; 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  the  chance  we  wanted  so ; 
Let  'em  hear  the  chorus  from  Umballa  to  Moscow, 
As  we  ^^  marching  to  the  Kremlin." 


THE  MAVERICKS  115 

"Mother  of  all  the  saints  in  bliss  and  all  the 
devils  in  cinders,  where's  my  fine  new  sock 
widout  the  heel?"  howled  Horse  Egan,  ran- 
sacking everybody's  knapsack  but  his  own.  He 
was  engaged  in  making  up  deficiencies  of  kit 
preparatory  to  a  campaign,  and  in  that  em- 
ploy, he  steals  best  who  steals  last.  "Ah, 
Mulcahy,  you're  in  good  time,"  he  shouted. 
"We've  got  the  route,  and  we're  off  on  Thurs- 
day for  a  picnic  wid  the  Lancers  next  door." 

An  ambulance  orderly  appeared  with  a  huge 
basket  full  of  lint  rolls,  provided  by  the  fore- 
thought of  the  queen,  for  such  as  might  need 
them  later  on.  Horse  Egan  unrolled  his  ban- 
dage and  flicked  it  under  Mulcahy's  nose 
chanting : 

"'Sheep's  skin  air*  bees'-wax,  thunder,  pitch  and  plas- 
ter; 
The  more  you  try  to  pull  it  off,  the  more  it  sticks  the 

faster. 
As  I  was  goin'  to  New  Orleans' — 

You  know  the  rest  of  it,  my  Irish-American 
Jew  boy.  By  gad,  ye  have  to  fight  for  the 
queen  in  the  inside  av  a  fortnight,  my  darlin." 
A  roar  of  laughter  interrupted.  Mulcahy 
looked  vacantly  down  the  room.  Bid  a  boy 
defy  his  father  when  the  pantomime-cab  is  at 
the  door,  or  a  girl  develop  a  will  of  her  own 


Il6  THE  MUTINY  OF 

when  her  mother  is  putting-  the  last  touches 
to  the  first  ball-clress,  but  do  not  ask  an  Irish 
regiment  to  embark  upon  mutiny  on  the  eve 
of  a  campaign;  when  it  has  fraternized  with 
the  native  regiment  that  accompanies  it, 
and  driven  its  officers  into  retirement  with  ten 
thousand  clamourous  questions,  and  the  pris- 
oners dance  for  joy,  and  the  sick  men  stand 
in  the  open,  calling  down  all  known  diseases 
on  the  head  of  the  doctor  who  has  certified 
that  they  are  "medically  unfit  for  active  ser- 
vice. "  And  even  the  Mavericks  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  mutineers  by  one  so  un- 
versed in  their  natures  as  Mulcahy.  At  dawn 
a  girl's  school  might  have  learned  deportment 
from  them.  They  knew  that  their  colonel's 
hand  had  closed,  and  that  he  who  broke  that 
iron  discipline  would  not  go  to  the  front. 
Nothing  in  the  world  will  persuade  one  of  our 
soldiers  when  he  is  ordered  to  the  north  on  the 
smallest  of  affairs,  that  he  is  not  immediately 
going  gloriously  to  slay  Cossacks  and  cook  his 
kettles  in  the  palace  of  the  czar.  A  few  of  the 
younger  men  mourned  for  Mulcahy's  beer,  be- 
cause the  campaign  was  to  be  conducted  on 
strict  temperance  principles,  but,  as  Dan  and 
Horse  Egan  said  sternly :  "We've  got  the  beer- 
man  with  us;  he  shall  drink  now  on  his  own 
hook.,, 


THE  MAVERICKS  1 17 

Mulcahy  had  not  taken  into  account  the  pos- 
sibility of  being  sent  on  active  service.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  go 
under  any  circumstances;  but  fortune  was 
against  him. 

"Sick — you?"  said  the  doctor,  who  had 
served  an  unholy  apprenticeship  to  his  trade  in 
Tralee  poorhouses.  "You're  only  homesick, 
and  what  you  call  varicose  veins  come  from 
overeating.  A  little  gentle  exercise  will  cure 
that."  And  later:  "Mulcahy,  my  man,  every- 
body is  allowed  to  apply  for  a  sick  certificate 
once.  If  he  tries  it  twice,  we  call  him  by 
an  ugly  name.  Go  back  to  your  duty,  and  let's 
hear  no  more  of  your  diseases." 

I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  Horse  Egan  en- 
joyed the  study  of  Mulcahy's  soul  in  those 
days,  and  Dan  took  an  equal  interest.  To- 
gether they  would  communicate  to  their  cor- 
poral all  the  dark  lore  of  death  that  is  the  por- 
tion of  those  who  have  seen  men  die.  Egan 
had  the  larger  experience,  but  Dan  the  finer 
imagination.  Mulcahy  shivered  when  the  for- 
mer spoke  of  the  knife  as  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, or  the  latter  dwelt  with  loving  particu- 
larity on  the  fate  of  those  who,  wounded  and 
helpless,  had  been  overlooked  by  the  ambul- 
ances, and  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
Afghan  women- folk. 


n8  THE  MUTINY  OF 

Mulcahy  knew  that  the  mutiny,  for  the  pre- 
sent at  least,  was  dead.  Knew,  too,  that  a 
change  had  come  over  Dan's  usually  respectful 
attitude  toward  him,  and  Horse  Egan's  laugh- 
ter and  frequent  allusions  to  abortive  conspir- 
acies emphasized  all  that  the  conspirator  had 
guessed.  The  horrible  fascination  of  the 
death-stories,  however,  made  him  seek  their 
society.  He  learned  much  more  than  he  had 
bargained  for;  and  in  this  manner.  It  was 
on  the  last  night  before  the  regiment  entrained 
to  the  front.  The  barracks  were  stripped  of 
everything  movable,  and  the  men  were  too  ex- 
cited to  sleep.  The  bare  walls  gave  out  a 
heavy  hospital  smell  of  chloride  of  lime — a 
stench  that  depresses  the  soul. 

"And  what,"  said  Mulcahy,  in  an  awe- 
stricken  whisper,  after  some  conversation  on 
the  eternal  subject,  "are  you  going  to  do  to  me, 
Dan?"  This  might  have  been  the  language 
of  an  able  conspirator  conciliating  a  weak 
spirit. 

"You'll  see,"  said  Dan,  grimly,  turning  over 
in  his  cot,  "or  I  rather  shud  say  you'll  not 
see." 

This  was  hardly  the  language  of  a  weak 
spirit.     Mulcahy  shook  under  the  bedclothes. 

"Be  easy  with  him,"  put  in  Egan  from  the 


THE  MAVERICKS  119 

next  cot.  "He  has  got  his  chanst  o'  goin' 
clean.  Listen,  Mulcahy :  all  we  want  is  for  the 
good  sake  of  the  regiment  that  you  take  your 
death  standing  up,  as  a  man  shud.  There  be 
heaps  an'  heaps  of  enemy — splenshus  heaps. 
Go  there  an'  do  all  you  can  and  die  decent. 
You'll  die  with  a  good  name  there.  Tis  not 
a  hard  thing  considerin'." 

Again  Mulcahy  shivered. 

"And  how  could  a  man  wish  to  die  better 
than  nghtin'?"  added  Dan,  consolingly. 

"And  if  I  won't?"  said  the  corporal  in  a 
dry  whisper. 

"There'll  be  a  dale  of  smoke,"  returned 
Dan,  sitting  up  and  ticking  off  the  situation 
on  his  fingers,  "sure  to  be,  an'  the  noise  of  the 
firm'  '11  be  tremenjus,  an'  we'll  be  running 
about  up  and  down,  the  regiment  will.  But 
we,  Horse  and  I — we'll  stay  by  you,  Mulcahy, 
and  never  let  you  go.  Maybe  there'll  be  an  ac- 
cident." 

"It's  playing  it  low  on  me.  Let  me  go. 
For  pity's  sake,  let  me  go!  I  never  did  you 
harm,  and — and  I  stood  you  as  much  beer  as 
I  could.  Ch,  don't  be  hard  on  me,  Dan !  You 
are' — you  were  in  it,  too.  You  won't  kill  me 
up  there,  will  you?" 

"I'm  not  thinkin'   of  the  treason;   though 


120  THE  MUTINY  OF 

you  shud  be  glad  any  honest  boys  drank  with 
you.  It's  for  the  regiment.  We  can't  have 
the  shame  o'  you  bringin'  shame  on  us.  You 
went  to  the  doctor  quiet  as  a  sick  cat  to  get 
and  stay  behind  an'  live  with  the  women  at 
the  depot — you  that  wanted  us  to  run  to  the 
sea  in  wolf-packs  like  the  rebels  none  of  your 
black  blood  dared  to  be!  But  we  knew  about 
your  goin'  to  the  doctor,  for  he  told  it  in  mess, 
and  it's  all  over  the  regiment.  Bein'  as  we  are 
your  best  friends,  we  didn't  allow  any  one  to 
molest  you  yet.  We  will  see  to  you  ourselves. 
Fight  which  you  will — us  or  the  enemy — 
you'll  never  lie  in  that  cot  again,  and  there's 
more  glory  and  maybe  less  kicks  from  fight- 
ing the  enemy.     That's  fair  speakin'." 

"And  he  told  us  by  word  of  mouth  to  go 
and  join  with  the  niggers — you've  forgotten 
that,  Dan,"  said  Horse  Egan,  to  justify  sen- 
tence. 

"What's  the  use  plaguin'  the  man?  One 
shot  pays  for  all.  Sleep  ye  sound,  Mulcahy. 
But  you  onderstand,  do  ye  not?" 

Mulcahy  for  some  weeks  understood  very 
little  of  anything  at  all  save  that  ever  at  his 
elbow,  in  camp,  or  at  parade,  stood  two  big 
men  with  soft  voices  adjuring  him  to  commit 
hari  kari  lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen — 


THE  MAVERICKS  121 

to  die  for  the  honor  of  the  regiment  in  de- 
cency among  the  nearest  knives.  But  Mul- 
cahy  dreaded  death.  He  remembered  certain 
things  that  priests  had  said  in  his  infancy, 
and  his  mother — not  the  one  at  New  York — 
starting  from  her  sleep  with  shrieks  to  pray 
for  a  husband's  soul  in  torment.  It  is  well 
to  be  of  a  cultured  intelligence,  but  in  time  of 
trouble  the  weak  human  mind  returns  to  the 
creed  it  sucked  in  at  the  breast,  and  if  that 
creed  be  not  a  pretty  one,  trouble  follows. 
Also,  the  death  he  would  have  to  face  would 
be  physically  painful.  Most  conspirators  have 
large  imaginations.  Mulcahy  could  see  him- 
self, as  he  lay  on  the  earth  in  the  night,  dying 
by  various  causes.  They  were  all  horrible ;  the 
mother  in  New  York  was  very  far  away,  and 
the  regiment,  the  engine  that,  once  you  fall  in 
its  grip,  moves  you  forward  whether  you  will 
or  won't,  was  daily  coming  closer  to  the 
enemy ! 

****** 

They  were  brought  to  the  field  of  Marzun- 
Katai,  and  with  the  Black  Boneens  to  aid,  they 
fought  a  fight  that  has  never  been  set  down 
in  the  newspapers.  In  response,  many  be- 
lieve, to  the  fervent  prayers  of  Father  Dennis, 
the  enemy  not  only  elected  to  fight  in  the  open, 


122  THE  MUTINY  OF 

but  made  a  beautiful  fight,  as  many  weeping 
Irish  mothers  knew  later.  They  gathered  be- 
hind walls  or  flickered  across  the  open  in 
shouting  masses,  and  were  pot-valiant  in  ar- 
tillery. It  was  expedient  to  hold  a  large  re- 
serve and  wait  for  the  psychological  moment 
that  was  being  prepared  by  the  shrieking 
shrapnel.  Therefore  the  Mavericks  lay  down 
in  open  order  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  to  watch 
the  play  till  their  call  should  come.  Father 
Dennis,  whose  place  was  in  the  rear,  to 
smoothe  the  trouble  of  the  wounded,  had  nat- 
urally managed  to  make  his  way  to  the  fore- 
most of  his  boys,  and  lay,  like  a  black  porpoise, 
at  length  on  the  grass.  To  him  crawled  Mul- 
cahy,  ashen-grey,  demanding  absolution. 

"Wait  till  you're  shot,"  said  Father  Dennis, 
sweetly.     "There's  a  time  for  everything." 

Dan  Grady  chuckled  as  he  blew  for  the  fif- 
tieth time  into  the  breech  of  his  speckless  rifle. 
Mulcahy  groaned  and  buried  his  head  in  his 
arms  till  a  stray  shot  spoke  like  a  snipe  im- 
mediately above  his  head,  and  a  general  heave 
and  tremor  rippled  the  line.  Other  shots  fol- 
lowed, and  a  few  took  effect,  as  a  shriek  or  a 
grunt  attested.  The  officers,  who  had  been 
lying  down  with  the  men,  rose  and  began  to 
walk  steadily  up  and  down  the  front  of  their 
companies. 


THE  MAVERICKS  123 

This  maneuvre,  executed  not  for  publica- 
tion, but  as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith,  to 
soothe  men,  demands  nerve.  You  must  not 
hurry,  you  must  not  look  nervous,  though  you 
know  that  you  are  a  mark  for  every  rifle 
within  extreme  range;  and,  above  all,  if  you 
are  smitten  you  must  make  as  little  noise  as 
possible  and  roll  inward  through  the  files.  It 
is  at  this  hour,  when  the  breeze  brings  the 
first  salt  whirr*  of  the  powder  to  noses  rather 
cold  at  the  tips,  and  the  eye  can  quietly  take  in 
the  appearance  of  each  red  casualty,  that  the 
strain  on  the  nerves  is  strongest.  Scotch  reg- 
iments can  endure  for  half  a  day,  and  abate 
no  whit  of  their  zeal  at  the  end ;  English  regi- 
ments sometimes  sulk  under  punishment, 
while  the  Irish,  like  the  French,  are  apt  to  run 
forward  by  ones  and  twos,  which  is  just  as 
bad  as  running  back.  The  truly  wise  com- 
mandment of  highly  strung  troops  allows 
them  in  seasons  of  waiting  to  hear  the  sound 
of  their  own  voices  uplifted  in  song.  There  is 
a  legend  of  an  English  regiment  that  lay  by 
its  arms  under  fire  chanting  "Sam  Hall,"  to 
the  horror  of  its  newly  appointed  and  pious 
colonel.  The  Black  Boneens,  who  were  suf- 
fering more  than  the  Mavericks,  on  a  hill  half 


124  THE  MUTINY  OF 

a  mile  away,  began  presently  to  explain  to  all 
who  cared  to  listen : 

"We'll  sound  the  jubilee,  from  the  centre  to  the  sea, 
And  Ireland  shall  be  free,  says  the  Shan-van- Voght." 

"Sing,  boys,"  said  Father  Dennis,  softly. 
"It  looks  as  if  we  cared  for  their  Afghan 
peas." 

Dan  Grady  raised  himself  to  his  knees  and 
opened  his  mouth  in  a  song  imparted  to  him, 
as  to  most  of  his  comrades,  in  the  strictest 
confidence  by  Mulcahy — that  Mulcahy  then 
lying  limp  and  fainting  on  the  grass,  the  chill 
fear  of  death  upon  him. 

Company  after  company  caught  up  the 
words  which,  the  I.  A.  A.  say,  are  to  herald 
the  general  rising  of  Erin,  and  to  breathe 
which,  except  to  those  duly  appointed  to  hear, 
is  death.  Wherefore  they  are  printed  in  this 
place : 

"The  Saxon  in  heaven's  just  balance  is  weighed, 

His  doom,  like  Belshazzar's,  in  death  has  been  cast, 
And  the  hand  of  the  'venger  shall  never  be  stayed 
Till  his  race,  faith,  and  speech  are  a  dream  of  the 
past." 

They  were  heart-filling  lines,  and  they  ran 
with  a  swirl ;  the  I.  A.  A.  are  better  served 
by  pens  than  their  petards.    Dan  clapped  Mill- 


THE  MAVERICKS  125 

cahy  merrily  on  the  back,  asking  him  to  sing 
tip.  The  officers  lay  down  again.  There  was 
no  need  to  walk  any  more.  Their  men  were 
soothing  themselves  thunderously,  thus : 

"St.  Mary  in  heaven  has  written  the  vow- 
That  the  land  shall  not  rest  till  the  heretic  blood, 
From  the  babe  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the  plow, 
Has  rolled  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood !" 

"I'll  speak  to  you  after  all's  over,"  said  Fa- 
ther Dennis,  authoritatively,  in  Dan's  ear. 
"What's  the  use  of  confessing  to  me  when  you 
do  this  foolishness?  Dan,  you've  been  play- 
ing with  fire!  I'll  lay  you  more  penance  in  a 
week  than" — 

"Come  along  to  purgatory  with  us,  father, 
dear.  The  Boneens  are  on  the  move;  they'll 
let  us  go  now!" 

The  regiment  rose  to  the  blast  of  the  bugle 
as  one  man;  but  one  man  there  was  who  rose 
more  swiftly  than  all  the  others,  for  half  an 
inch  of  bayonet  was  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his 
leg. 

"You've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Dan,  grimly. 
"Do  it  decent,  anyhow;"  and  the  roar  of  the 
rush  drowned  his  words  as  the  rear  companies 
thrust  forward  the  first,  still  singing  as  they 
swung  down  the  slope: 

"From  the  child  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the  plow 
Has  rolled  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood!" 


126  THE  MUTINY  OF 

They  should  have  sung  it  in  the  face  of 
England,  not  of  the  Afghans,  whom  it  im- 
pressed as  much  as  did  the  wild  Irish  yell. 

"They  came  down  singing,"  said  the  unoffi- 
cial report  of  the  enemy,  borne  from  village  to 
village  next  day.  "They  continued  to  sing, 
and  it  was  written  that  our  men  could  not 
abide  when  they  came.  It  is  believed  that 
there  was  magic  in  the  aforesaid  song." 

Dan  and  Horse  Egan  kept  themselves  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Mulcahy.  Twice  the  man 
would  have  bolted  back  in  the  confusion. 
Twice  he  was  heaved  like  a  half-drowned  kit- 
ten into  the  unpaintable  inferno  of  a  hotly 
contested  charge. 

At  the  end,  the  panic  excess  of  his  fear 
roved  him  into  madness  beyond  all  human 
courage.  His  eyes  staring  at  nothing,  his 
mouth  open  and  frothing,  and  breathing  as 
one  in  a  cold  bath,  he  went  forward  demented, 
while  Dan  toiled  after  him.  The  charge  was 
checked  at  a  high  mud  wall.  It  was  Mulcahy 
that  scrambled  up  tooth  and  nail  and  heaved 
down  among  the  bayonets  the  amazed  Afghan 
who  barred  his  way.  It  was  Mulcahy,  keeping 
to  the  straight  line  of  the  rabid  dog,  led  a  col- 
lection of  ardent  souls  at  a  newly  unmasked 
battery,  and  flung  himself  on  the  muzzle  of  a 


THE  MAVERICKS  127 

gun  as  his  companions  danced  among"  the 
gunners.  It  was  Mulcahy  who  ran  wildly 
on  from  that  batery  into  the  open  plain  where 
the  enemy  were  retiring  in  sullen  groups.  His 
hands  were  empty,  he  had  lost  helmet  and 
belt,  and  he  was  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the 
neck.  Dan  and  Horse  Egan,  panting  and  dis- 
tressed, had  thrown  themselves  down  on  the 
ground  by  the  captured  guns,  when  they  no- 
ticed Mulcahy's  flight. 

"Mad,"  said  Horse  Egan,  critically.  "Mad 
with  fear!  He's  going  straight  to  his  death, 
an'  shouting's  no  use." 

"Let  him  go.  Watch  now!  If  we  fire  we'll 
hit  him  maybe." 

The  last  of  a  hurrying  crowd  of  Afghans 
turned  at  the  noise  of  shod  feet  behind  him, 
and  shifted  his  knife  ready  to  hand.  This,  he 
saw,  was  no  time  to  take  prisoners.  Mulcahy 
ran  on,  sobbing,  and  the  straight-held  blade 
went  home  through  the  defenceless  breast,  and 
the  body  pitched  forward  almost  before  a  sh  ot 
from  Dan's  rifle  brought  down  the  slayer  and 
still  further  hurried  the  Afghan  retreat.  The 
two  Irishmen  went  out  to  bring  in  their  dead. 

"He  was  given  the  point,  and  that  was  an 
easy  death,"  said  Horse  Egan,  viewing  the 
corpse.  "But  would  you  ha*  shot  him, 
Danny,  if  he  had  lived?" 


128  THE  MUTINY  OF 

"He  didn't  live,  so  there's  no  sayin'.  But  I 
doubt  I  wud  have,  bekase  of  the  fun  he  gave 
us — let  alone  the  beer.  Hike  up  his  legs. 
Horse,  and  we'll  bring  him  in.  Perhaps  'tis 
better  this  way." 

They  bore  the  poor  limp  body  to  the  mass  of 
the  regiment,  lolling  open-mouthed  on  their 
rifles;  and  there  was  a  general  snigger  when 
one  of  the  younger  subalterns  said :  "That  was 
a  good  man!" 

"Phew!"  said  Horse  Egan,  when  a  burial 
party  had  taken  over  the  burden.  "I'm  pow- 
erful dhry,  and  this  reminds  me,  there'll  be 
no  more  beer  at  all." 

"Fwhy  not?"  said  Dan,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye  as  he  stretched  himself  for  rest.  "Are 
we  not  conspirin'  all  we  can,  an'  while  we  con- 
spire are  we  not  entitled  to  free  dhrinks  ?  Sure 
his  ould  mother  in  New  York  would  not  let 
her  son's  comrades  perish  of  drouth — if  she 
can  be  reached  at  the  end  of  a  letter." 

"You're  a  janius,"  said  Horse  Egan.  "O' 
coorse  she  will  not.  I  wish  this  crool  war  was 
over,  an'  we'd  get  back  to  canteen.  Faith,  the 
commander-in-chief  ought  to  be  hanged  on 
his  own  little  sword-belt  for  makin'  us  work 
on  wather." 

The    Mavericks    were    generally  of  Horse 


THE  MAVERICKS  129 

Egan's  opinion.  So  they  made  haste  to  get 
their  work  done  as  soon  as  possible,  and  their 
industry  was  rewarded  by  unexpected  peace. 
"We  can  fight  the  sons  of  Adam,"  said  the 
tribesmen,  "but  we  cannot  fight  the  sons  of 
Eblis,  and  this  regiment  never  stays  still  in 
one  place.  Let  us  therefore  come  in."  They 
came  in,  and  "this  regiment"  withdrew  to 
conspire  under  the  leadership  of  Dan  Grady. 
Excellent  as  a  subordinate,  Dan  failed  alto- 
gether as  a  chief-in-command — possibly  be- 
cause he  was  too  much  swayed  by  the  advice  of 
the  only  man  in  the  regiment  who  could  per- 
petrate more  than  one  kind  of  handwriting. 
The  same  mail  that  bore  to  Mulcahy's  mother 
in  New  York  a  letter  from  the  colonel,  telling 
her  how  valiantly  her  son  had  fought  for  the 
queen,  and  how  assuredly  he  would  have  been 
recommended  for  the  Victoria  Cross  had  he 
survived,  carried  a  communication  signed,  I 
grieve  to  say,  by  that  same  colonel  and  all  the 
officers  of  the  regiment,  explaining  their  will- 
ingness to  do  "anything  which  is  contrary  to 
the  regulations  and  all  kinds  of  revolutions" 
if  only  a  little  money  could  be  forwarded  to 
cover  incidental  expenses.  Daniel  Grady, 
Esquire,  would  receive  funds,  vice  Mulcahy, 
who  "was  unwell  at  this  present  time  of  writ- 
ing." 


i3o  THE  MUTINY  OF 

Both  letters  were  forwarded  from  New 
York  to  Tahema  Street,  San  Francisco,  with 
marginal  comments  as  brief  as  they  were  bit- 
ter. The  Third  Three  read  and  looked  at  each 
other.  Then  the  Second  Conspirator — he  who 
believed  in  "joining  hands  with  the  practical 
branches" — began  to  laugh,  and  on  recovering 
his  gravity,  said :  "Gentlemen,  I  consider  this 
will  be  a  lesson  to  us.  We're  left  again.  Those 
cursed  Irish  have  let  us  down.  I  knew  they 
would,  but" — here  he  laughed  afresh — "I'd 
give  considerable  to  know  what  was  at  the 
back  of  it  all." 

His  curiosity  would  have  been  satisfied  had 
he  seen  Dan  Grady,  discredited  regimental 
conspirator,  trying  to  explain  to  his  thirsty 
comrades  in  India  the  non-arrival  of  funds 
from  New  York. 


AT  THE  END  OF  THE  PASSAGE 

FOUR  men,  theoretically  entitled  to  "life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness/'  sat 
at  a  table  playing  whist.  The  thermometer 
marked — for  them — one  hundred  and  one  de- 
grees of  heat.  The  room  was  darkened  till  it 
was  only  just  possible  to  distinguish  the  pipes 
of  the  cards  and  the  very  white  faces  of  the 
players.  A  tattered,  rotten  punkah  of  white- 
washed calico  was  puddling  the  hot  air  and 
whining  dolefully  at  each  stroke.  Outside  lay 
gloom  of  a  November  day  in  London.  There 
was  neither  sky,  sun,  nor  horizon. — nothing 
but  a  brown-purple  haze  of  heat.  It  was  as 
though  the  earth  were  dying  of  apoplexy. 

From  time  to  time  clouds  of  tawny  dust  rose 
from  the  ground  without  wind  or  warning, 
flung  themselves  table-cloth-wise  among  the 
tops  of  the  parched  trees,  and  came  down 
again.  Then  a  whirling  dust-devil  would  scut- 
ter  across  the  plain  for  a  couple  of  miles,  break 
and  fall  outward,  though  there  was  nothing  to 
check  its  flight  save  a  long  low  line  of  piled 
railway-sleepers  white  with  the  dust,  a  cluster 
of  huts  made  of   mud,    condemned   rails  and 

133 


134  AT  THE  END  OF 

canvas,  and  the  one  squat  four-roomed  bunga- 
low that  belonged  to  the  assistant  engineer  in 
charge  of  a  section  of  the  Gandhari  State  line 
then  under  construction. 

The  four  men,  stripped  to  the  thinnest  of 
sleeping-suits,  played  whist  crossly,  with 
wranglings  as  to  leads  and  returns.  It  was  not 
the  best  kind  of  whist,  but  they  had  taken  some 
trouble  to  arrive  at  it.  Mottram,  of  the  India 
Survey,  had  ridden  thirty  and  railed  one  hun- 
dred miles  from  his  lonely  post  in  the  desert 
since  the  previous  night;  Lowndes,  of  the  Civil 
Service,  on  special  duty  in  the  political  depart- 
ment, had  come  as  far  to  escape  for  an  instant 
the  miserable  intrigues  of  an  impoverished  na- 
tive state  whose  king  alternately  fawned  and 
blustered  for  more  money  from  the  pitiful 
revenues  contributed  by  hard-wrung  peasants 
and  despairing  camel-breeders;  Spurstow,  the 
doctor  of  the  line,  had  left  a  cholera-stricken 
camp  of  coolies  to  look  after  itself  for  forty- 
eight  hours  while  he  associated  with  white  men 
once  more.  Hummil,  the  assistant  engineer, 
was  the  host.  He  stood  fast,  and  received  his 
friends  thus  every  Sunday  if  they  could  come 
in.  When  one  of  them  failed  to  appear,  he 
would  send  a  telegram  to  his  last  address,  in 
order  that  he  might  know  whether  the  de- 


THE  PASSAGE  135 

faulter  was  dead  or  alive.  There  be  very  many 
places  in  the  East  where  it  is  not  good  or  kind 
to  let  your  acquaintances  drop  out  of  sight 
even  for  one  short  week. 

The  players  were  not  conscious  of  any  spe- 
cial regard  for  each  other.  They  squabbled 
whenever  they  met;  but  they  ardently  desired 
to  meet,  as  men  without  water  desire  to  drink. 
They  were  lonely  folk  who  understood  the 
dread  meaning  of  loneliness.  They  were  all 
under  thirty  years  of  age — which  is  too  soon 
for  any  man  to  possess  that  knowledge. 

"Pilsener,"  said  Spurstow,  after  the  second 
rubber,  mopping  his  forehead. 

"Beer's  out,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  there's 
hardly  enough  soda-water  for  to-night,"  said 
Hummil. 

"What  filthy  bad  management!"  snarled 
Spurstow. 

"Can't  help  it.  I've  written  and  wired ;  but 
the  trains  don't  come  through  regularly  yet. 
Last  week  the  ice  ran  out — as  Lowndes 
knows." 

"Glad  I  didn't  come.  I  could  ha'  sent  you 
some  if  I  had  known,  though.  Phew!  it's  too 
hot  to  go  on  playing  bumblepuppy." 

This  was  a  savage  growl  at  Lowndes,  who 
only  laughed.    He  was  a  hardened  offender. 


136  AT  THE  END  OF 

Mottram  rose  from  the  table  and  looked  out 
of  a  chink  in  the  shutters. 

"What  a  sweet  day!"  said  he. 

The  company  yawned  unanimously  and  be- 
took themselves  to  an  aimless  investigation  of 
all  Hummil's  possessions  • —  guns,  tattered 
novels,  saddlery,  spurs,  and  the  like.  They 
had  fingered  them  a  score  of  times  before,  but 
there  was  really  nothing  else  to  do. 

"Got  anything  fresh?"  said  Lowndes. 

"Last  week's  'Gazette  of  India,'  and  a  cut- 
ting from  a  home  paper.  My  father  sent  it 
out.     It's  rather  amusing."     , 

"One  of  those  vest^miejj^ihat  call  'emselves 
M.  P.'s  again,  is  it?"  said  Spurstow,  who  read 
his  newspapers  when  he  could  get  them. 

"Yes.  Listen  to  this.  It's  to  your  address, 
Lowndes.  The  man  was  making  a  speech  to 
his  constituents,  and  he  piled  it  on.  Here's  a 
sample:  'And  I  assert  unhesitatingly  that  the 
Civil  Service  in  India  is  to  preserve — the  pet 
preserve — of  the  aristocracy  of  England.  What 
does  the  democracy — what  do  the  masses — get 
from  that  country,  which  we  have  step  by  step 
fraudulently  annexed?  I  answer,  nothing 
whatever.  It  is  farmed,  with  a  single  eye  to 
their  own  interests,  by  the  scions  of  the  aris- 
tocracy.    They  take    good  care  to    maintain 


THE  PASSAGE  137 

their  lavish  scale  of  incomes,  to  avoid  or  stifle 
any  inquiries  into  the  nature  and  conduct  of 
their  administration,  while  they  themselves 
force  the  unhappy  peasant  to  pay  with  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  for  all  the  luxuries  in  which 
they  are  lapped/  "  Hummil  waved  the  cut- 
ting above  his  head.  "'Ear!  'ear!"  said  his 
audience. 

Then  Lowndes,  meditatively:  "I'd  give — I'd 
give  three  months'  pay  to  have  that  gentleman 
spend  one  month  with  me  and  see  how  the  free 
and  independent  native  prince  works  things. 
Old  Timbersides" — this  was  his  flippant  title 
for  an  honored  and  decorated  prince — "has 
been  wearing  my  life  out  this  week  past  for 
money.  By  Jove!  his  latest  performance  was 
to  send  me  one  of  his  women  as  a  bribe!" 

"Good  for  you.  Did  you  accept  it?"  said 
Mottram. 

"No.  I  rather  wish  I  had,  now.  She  was  a 
pretty  little  person,  and  she  yarned  away  to  me 
about  the  horrible  destitution  among  the  king's 
women-folk.  The  darlings  haven't  had  any 
new  clothes  for  nearly  a  month,  and  the  old 
man  wants  to  buy  a  new  drag  from  Calcutta — 
solid  silver  railings  and  silver  lamps,  and 
trifles  of  that  kind.  "  I've  tried  to  make  him  un- 
derstand that  he  has  played  the  deuce  with  the 


138  AT  THE  END  OF 

revenues  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  must 
go  slow.     He  can't  see  it." 

"But  he  has  the  ancestral  treasure-vault  to 
draw  on.  There  must  be  three  millions  at  least 
in  jewels  and  coin  under  his  palace,"  said 
Hummil. 

"Catch  a  native  king  disturbing  the  family 
treasure!  The  priests  forbid  it,  except  as  the 
last  resort.  Old  Timbersides  has  added  some- 
thing like  a  quarter  of  a  million  to  the  deposit 
in  his  reign." 

"Where  the  mischief  does  it  all  come 
from?"  said  Mottram. 

"The  country.  The  state  of  the  people  is 
enough  to  make  you  sick.  I've  known  the  tax- 
men  wait  by  a  milch-camel  till  the  foal  was 
born,  and  then  hurry  off  the  mother  for  ar- 
rears. And  what  can  I  do?  I  can't  get  the 
court  clerks  to  give  me  any  accounts;  I  can't 
raise  anything  more  than  a  fat  smile  from  the 
commander-in-chief  when  I  find  out  the 
troops  are  three  months  in  arrears;  and  old 
Timbersides  begins  to  weep  when  I  speak  to 
him.  He  has  taken  to  the  king's  peg  heavily 
— liquor  brandy  for  whisky  and  Heidsieck  for 
soda-water." 

"That's  what  the  Rao  of  Jubela  took  to. 
Even  a  native  can't  last  long  at  that,"  said 
Spurstow.     "He'll  go  out." 


THE  PASSAGE  139 

"And  a  good  thing,  too.  Then  I  suppose 
we'll  have  a  council  of  regency,  and  a  tutor  for 
the  young  prince,  and  hand  him  back  his  king- 
dom with  ten  years'  accumulations." 

"Whereupon  that  young  prince,  having  been 
taught  all  the  vices  of  the  English,  will  play 
ducks  and  drakes  with  the  money,  and  undo 
ten  years'  work  in  eighteen  months.  I've  seen 
that  business  before,"  said  Spurstow.  "I  should 
tackle  the  king  with  a  light  hand,  if  I  were 
you,  Lowndes.  They'll  hate  you  quite  enough 
under  any  circumstances." 

"That's  all  very  well.  The  man  who  looks 
on  can  talk  about  the  light  hand ;  but  you  can't 
clean  a  pig-sty  with  a  pen  dipped  in  rosewarer. 
I  know  my  risks;  but  nothing  has  happened 
yet.  My  servant's  an  old  Pathan,  and  he  cooks 
for  me.  They  are  hardly  likely  to  bribe  him, 
and  I  don't  accept  food  from  my  true  friends, 
as  they  call  themselves.  Oh,  but  it's  weary 
work!  I'd  sooner  be  with  you,  Spurstow. 
There's  shooting  near  your  camp." 

"Would  you?  I  don't  think  it.  About  fif- 
teen deaths  a  day  don't  incite  a  man  to  shoot 
anything  but  himself.  And  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  the  poor  devils  look  at  you  as  though  you 
ought  to  save  them.  Lord  knows,  I've  tried 
everything.     My  last  attempt  was  empirical, 


140  AT  THE  END  OF 

but  it  pulled  an  old  man  through.  He  was 
brought  to  me  apparently  past  hope,  and  I 
gave  him  gin  and  Worcester  sauce  with  cay- 
enne. It  cured  him;  but  I  don't  recommend 
it." 

"How  do  the  cases  run  generally  ?"  said 
Hummil. 

"Very  simply  indeed.  Chlorodyne,  opium 
pill,  chlorodyne,  collapse,  nitre,  bricks  to  the 
feet,  and  then — the  burning-ghat.  The  .last 
seems  to  be  the  only  thing  that  stops  the  trou- 
ble. It's  black  cholera,  you  know.  Poor  dev- 
ils !  But,  what  I  will  say,  little  Bunsee  Lai,  my 
apothecary,  works  like  a  demon.  I've  recom- 
mended him  for  promotion  if  he  comes 
through  it  all  alive." 

"And  what  are  your  chances,  old  man?" 
said  Mottram. 

"Don't  know ;  don't  care  much ;  but  I've  sent 
the  letter  in.  What  are  you  doing  with  your- 
self generally?" 

"Sitting  under  a  table  in  the  tent  and  spit- 
ting on  the  sextant  to  keep  it  cool,"  said  the 
man  of  the  survey.  "Washing  my  eyes  to 
avoid  ophthalmia,  which  I  shall  certainly  get, 
and  trying  to  make  a  sub-surveyor  understand 
that  an  error  of  five  degrees  in  an  angle  isn't 
quite  so  small  as  it  looks.  I'm  altogether  alone, 


THE  PASSAGE  141 

y*  know,  and  shall  be  till  the  end  of  the  hot 
weather." 

"Hummil's  the  lucky  man,"  said  Lowndes, 
flinging"  himself  into  a  long  chair.  "He  has  an 
actual  roof — torn  as  to  the  ceiling-cloth,  but 
still  a  roof — over  his  head.  He  sees  one  train 
daily.  He  can  get  beer  and  soda-water,  and 
ice  it  when  God  is  good.  He  has  books,  pic- 
tures"— they  were  torn  from  the  "Graphic" — ■ 
"and  the  society  of  the  excellent  sub-contractor 
Jevins,  besides  the  pleasure  of  receiving  us 
weekly." 

Hummil  smiled  grimly.  "Yes,  I'm  the  lucky 
man,  I  suppose.     Jevins  is  luckier." 

"How?     Not"— 

"Yes.    Went  out.    Last  Monday." 

"Ap  sef"  said  Spurstow,  quickly,  hinting 
the  suspicion  that  was  in  everybody's  mind. 
There  was  no  cholera  near  Hummil's  section. 
Even  fever  gives  a  man  at  least  a  week's 
grace,  and  sudden  death  generally  implied  self- 
slaughter. 

"I  judge  no  man  this  weather,"  said  Hum- 
mil.  "He  had  a  touch  of  the  sun,  I  fancy ;  for 
last  week,  after  you  fellows  had  left,  he  came 
into  the  veranda  and  told  me  that  he  was  go- 
ing home  to  see  his  wife,  in  Market  Street, 
Liverpool,  that  evening.     I  got  the  apothecary 


142  AT  THE  END  OF 

in  to  look  at  him,  and  we  tried  to  make  him  lie 
down.  After  an  hour  or  two  he  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  said  he  believed  he  had  had  a  fit — * 
hoped  he  hadn't  said  anything-  rude.  Jevins 
had  a  great  idea  of  bettering  himself  socially. 
He  was  very  like  Chucks  in  his  language." 

"Well?" 

"Then  he  went  to  his  own  bungalow  and  be- 
gan cleaning  a  rifle.  He  told  the  servant  that 
he  was  going  after  buck  in  the  morning.  Nat- 
urally he  fumbled  with  the  trigger,  and  shot 
himself  through  the  head  accidentally.  The 
apothecary  sent  in  a  report  to  my  chief,  and 
Jevins  is  buried  somewhere  out  there.  I'd 
have  wired  to  you,  Spurstow,  if  you  could  have 
done  anything." 

"You're  a  queer  chap,"  said  Mottram.  "If 
you  killed  the  man  yourself  you  couldn't  have 
been  more  quiet  about  the  business." 

"Good  Lord!  what  does  it  matter?"  said 
Hummil,  calmly.  "I've  got  to  do  a  lot  of  his 
overseeing  work  in  addition  to  my  own.  I'm 
the  only  person  that  suffers.  Jevins  is  out  of 
it — by  pure  accident,  of  course,  but  out  of  it. 
The  apothecary  was  going  to  write  a  long 
screed  on  suicide.  Trust  a  babu  to  drivel  when 
he  gets  the  chance." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  it  go  in  as  suicide?" 
said  Lowndes. 


THE  PASSAGE  143 

"No  direct  proof.  A  man  hasn't  many  priv- 
ileges in  this  country,  but  he  might  at  least  be 
allowed  to  mishandle  his  own  rifle.  Besides, 
some  day  I  may  need  a  man  to  smother  up  an 
accident  to  myself.  Live  and  let  live.  Die  and 
let  die." 

"You  take  a  pill,"  said  Spurstow,  who  had 
been  watching  Hummil's  white  face  narrowly. 
"Take  a  pill,  and  don't  be  an  ass.  That  sort  of 
talk  is  skittles.  Anyhow,  suicide  is  shirking 
your  work.  If  I  was  a  Job  ten  times  over,  I 
should  be  so  interested  in  what  was  going  to 
happen  next  that  I'd  stay  on  and  watch." 

"Ah!  I've  lost  that  curiosity,"  said  HummiL 

"Liver  out  of  order?"  said  Lowndes,  feel- 
ingly. 

"No.    Can't  sleep.    That's  worse." 

"By  Jove,  it  is!"  said  Mottram.  I'm  that 
way  every  now  and  then,  and  the  fit  has  to 
wear  itself  out.    What  do  you  take  for  it  ?" 

"Nothing.  What's  the  use?  I  haven't  had 
ten  minutes'  sleep  since  Friday  morning." 

"Poor  chap !  Spurstow,  you  ought  to  attend 
to  this,"  said  Mottram.  "Now  you  mention  it, 
your  eyes  are  rather  gummy  and  swollen." 

Spurstow,  still  watching  Hummil,  laughed 
lightly.  "I'll  patch  him  up  later  on.  Is  it  too 
hot,  do  you  think,  to  go  for  a  ride  ?" 


144  AT  THE  END  OF 

"Where  to?"  said  Lowndes,  wearily.  "We 
shall  have  to  go  away  at  eight,  and  there'll  be 
riding  enough  for  us  then.  I  hate  a  horse, 
when  I  have  to  use  him  as  a  necessity.  Oh, 
heavens !  what  is  there  to  do  ?" 

"Begin  whist  again,  at  chick  points"  (a 
"chick"  is  supposed  to  be  eight  shillings),  "and 
a  gold  mohur  on  the  rub,"  said  Spurstow, 
promptly. 

"Poker.  A  month's  pay  all  round  for  the 
pool — no  limit — and  fifty-rupee  raises.  Some- 
body would  be  broken  before  we  got  up,"  said 
Lowndes. 

"Can't  say  that  it  would  give  me  any  pleas- 
ure to  break  any  man  in  this  company,"  said 
Mottram.  "There  isn't  enough  excitement  in 
it,  and  it's  foolish."  He  crossed  over  to  the 
worn  and  battered  little  camp  piano — wreck- 
age of  a  married  household  that  had  once  held 
the  bungalow — and  opened  the  case. 

"It's  used  up  long  ago,"  said  Hummil.  "The 
servants  have  picked  it  to  pieces." 

The  piano  was  indeed  hopelessly  out  of  or- 
der, but  Mottram  managed  to  bring  the  rebel- 
lious notes  into  a  sort  of  agreement,  and  there 
rose  from  the  ragged  key-board  something 
that  might  once  have  been  the  ghost  of  a  pop- 
ular music-hall  song.     The  men  in  the  long 


THE  PASSAGE  145 

chairs  turned  with  evident  interest  as  Mot- 
tram  banged  the  more  lustily. 

"That's  good!"  said  Lowndes.  "By  Jove! 
the  last  time  I  heard  that  song  was  in  '79,  or 
thereabouts,  just  before  I  came  out." 

"Ah!"  said  Spurstow,  with  pride,  "I  was 
home  in  J8o."  And  he  mentioned  a  song  of 
the  streets  popular  at  that  date. 

Mottram  executed  it  indifferently  well. 
Lowndes  criticised,  and  volunteered  emenda- 
tions. Mottram  dashed  into  another  ditty,  not 
of  the  music-hall  character,  and  made  as  if  to 
rise. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Hummil.  "I  didn't  know 
that  you  had  any  music  in  your  composition. 
Go  on  playing  until  you  can't  think  of  any- 
thing more.  I'll  have  that  piano  tuned  up  be- 
fore you  come  again.     Play  somthing  festive." 

Very  simple  indeed  were  the  tunes  to  which 
Mottram's  art  and  the  limitations  of  the  piano 
could  give  effect,  but  the  men  listened  with 
pleasure,  and  in  the  pauses  talked  all  together 
of  what  they  had  seen  or  heard  when  they 
were  last  at  home.  A  dense  dust-storm 
sprung  up  outside  and  swept  roaring  over  the 
house,  enveloping  it  in  the  choking  darkness  of 
midnight,  but  Mottram  continued  unheeding, 
and  the  crazy  tinkle  reached  the  ears  of  the  lis- 


146  AT  THE  END  OF 

teners  above  the  flapping  of  the  tattered  ceil- 
ing-cloth. 

In  the  silence  after  the  storm  he  glided  from 
the  more  directly  personal  songs  of  Scotland, 
half  humming  them  as  he  played,  into  the 
"Evening  Hymn.,, 

"Sunday,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head. 

"Go  on.  Don't  apologize  for  it,"  said  Spur- 
stow. 

Hummil  laughed  long  and  riotously.  "Play 
it,  by  all  means.  You're  full  of  surprises  to- 
day. I  didn't  know  you  had  such  a  gift  of  fin- 
ished sarcasm.     How  does  that  thing  go  ?" 

Mottram  took  up  the  tune. 

"Too  slow  by  half.  You  miss  the  note  of 
gratitude,"  said  Hummil.  "It  ought  to  go  to 
the  'Grasshopper's  Polka' — this  way."  And 
he  chanted,  prestissimo: 

" 'Glory  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light.' 

That  shows  we  really  feel  our  blessings.  How 
does  it  go  on  ? — 

"If  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 

My  soul  with  sacred  thoughts  supply; 
May  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest/— 

Quicker.  Mottram! — 

"  'Or  powers  of  darkness  me  molest!"* 


THE  PASSAGE  147 

"Bah!  what  an  old  hypocrite  you  are." 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Lowndes.  "You  are 
at  full  liberty  to  make  fun  of  anything  else  you 
like,  but  leave  that  hymn  alone.  It's  associated 
in  my  mind  with  the  most  sacred  recollec- 
tions"— 

"Summer  evenings  in  the  country — stained- 
glass  window — light  going  out,  and  you  and 
she  jamming  your  heads  together  over  one 
hymn-book,"  said  Mottram. 

"Yes,  and  a  fat  old  cockshafer  hitting  you  in 
the  eye  when  you  walked  home.  Smell  of  hay, 
and  a  moon  as  big  as  a  band-box  siting  on  the 
top  of  a  haycock;  bats — roses — milk  and 
midges,"  said  Lowndes. 

"Also  mothers.  I  can  just  recollect  my 
mother  singing  me  to  sleep  with  that  when  I 
was  a  little  chap,"  said  Spurstow. 

The  darkness  had  fallen  on  the  room.  They 
could  hear  Hummil  squirming  in  his  chair. 

"Consequently,"  said  he,  testily,  "you  sing 
it  when  you  are  seven  fathoms  deep  in  hell! 
It's  an  insult  to  the  intelligence  of  the  Deity  to 
pretend  we're  anything  but  tortured  rebels." 

"Take  two  pills,"  said  Spurstow:  "that's 
tortured  liver." 

"The  usually  placid  Hummil  is  in  a  vile  bad 
temper.     I'm   sorry   for  the  coolies   to-mor- 


I48  AT  THE  END  OF 

row,"  said  Lowndes,  as  the  servants  brought 
in  the  lights  and  prepared  the  table  for  dinner. 

As  they  were  settling  into  their  places  about 
the  miserable  goat-chops,  the  curried  eggs,  and 
the  smoked  tapioca  pudding,  Spurstow  took 
occasion  to  whisper  to  Mottram :  "Well  done, 
David!" 

"Look  after  Saul,  then,"  was  the  reply. 

"What  are  you  two  whispering  about?" 
said  Hummil,  suspiciously. 

"Only  saying  that  you  are  a  d d  poor 

host.  This  fowl  can't  be  cut,"  returned  Spur- 
stow, with  a  sweet  smile.  "Call  this  a  din- 
ner?" 

"I  can't  help  it.  You  don't  expect  a  ban- 
quet, do  you?" 

Throughout  that  meal  Hummil  contrived 
laboriously  to  insult  directly  and  pointedly  all 
his  guests  in  succession,  and  at  each  insult 
Spurstow  kicked  the  aggrieved  person  under 
the  table;  but  he  dared  not  exchange  a  glance 
of  intelligence  with  either  of  them.  Hummil's 
face  was  white  and  pinched,  while  his  eyes 
were  unnaturally  large.  No  man  dreamed  for 
a  moment  of  resenting  his  savage  personalities, 
but  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  they  made 
haste  to  get  away. 

"Don't  go.     You're  just  getting  amusing, 


THE  PASSAGE  149 

you  fellows.  I  hope  I  haven't  said  anything 
that  annoyed  you.  You're  such  touchy  dev- 
ils." Then,  changing  the  note  into  one  of  al- 
most abject  entreaty :  "I  say,  you  surely  aren't 
going?" 

"Where  I  dines,  I  sleeps,  in  the  language  of 
the  blessed  Jorrocks,"  said  Spurstow.  "I  want 
to  have  a  look  at  your  coolies  to-morrow,  if 
you  don't  mind.  You  can  give  me  a  place  to 
lie  down  in,  I  suppose  ?" 

The  others  pleaded  the  urgency  of  their  sev- 
eral employs  next  day,  and,  saddling  up,  de- 
parted together,  Hummil  begging  them  to 
come  next  Sunday.  As  they  jogged  off  to- 
gether, Lowndes  unbosomed  himself  to  Mot- 
tram  :  " .  .  .  And  I  never  felt  so  like  kick- 
ing a  man  at  his  own  table  in  my  life.  Said  I 
cheated  at  whist,  and  reminded  me  I  was  in 
debt !  Told  you  you  were  as  good  as  a  liar  to 
your  face!  You  aren't  half  indignant  enough 
over  it." 

"Not  I,"  said  Mottram.  "Poor  devil !  Did 
you  ever  know  old  Hummy  behave  like  that 
before?  Did  you  ever  know  him  go  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  it?" 

"That's  no  excuse.  Spurstow  was  hacking 
my  shin  all  the  time,  so  I  kept  a  hand  on  my- 
self.   Else  I  should  have"' — 


150  &T  THE  END  OF 

"No,  you  wouldn't  You'd  have  done  as 
Hummy  did  about  Jevins:  judge  no  man  this 
weather.  By  Jove!  the  buckle  of  my  bridle  is 
hot  in  my  hand !  Trot  out  a  bit,  and  mind  the 
rat-holes." 

Ten  minutes'  trotting  jerked  out  of  Lowndes 
one  very  sage  remark  when  he  pulled  up, 
sweating  from  every  pore : 

"Good  thing  Spurstow's  with  him  to-night." 

"Ye-es.  Good  man,  Spurstow.  Our  roads 
turn  here.  See  you  again  next  Sunday,  if  the 
sun  doesn't  bowl  me  over." 

"S'pose  so,  unless  old  Timbersides'  finance 
minister  manages  to  dress  some  of  my  food. 
Good-night,  and — God  bless  you!" 

"What's  wrong  now?" 

"Oh,  nothing."  Lowndes  gathered  up  his 
whip,  and,  as  he  flicked  Mottram's  mare  on  the 
flank,  added:  "You're  a  good  little  chap — > 
that's  all."  And  the  mare  bolted  half  a  mile 
across  the  sand  on  the  word. 

In  the  assistant  engineer's  bungalow  Spur- 
stow and  Hummil  smoked  the  pipe  of  silence 
together,  each  narrowly  watching  the  other. 
The  capacity  of  a  bachelor's  establishment  is 
as  elastic  as  its  arrangements  are  simple.  A 
servant  cleared  away  the  dining-room  table, 
brought  in  a  couple  of  rude  native  bedsteads 


THE  PASSAGE  151 

made  of  tape  strung  on  a  light  wood  frame, 
flung  a  square  of  cool  Calcutta  matting  over 
each,  set  them  side  by  side,  pinned  two  towels 
to  the  punkah  so  that  their  fringes  should  just 
sweep  clear  of  each  sleeper's  nose  and  mouth, 
and  anounced  that  the  couches  were  ready. 

The  men  flung  themselves  down,  adjuring 
the  punkah-coolies  by  all  the  powers  of  Eblis 
to  pull.  Every  door  and  window  was  shut, 
for  the  outside  air  was  that  of  an  oven.  The 
atmosphere  within  was  only  1040,  as  the  ther- 
mometer attested,  and  heavy  wiui  the  foul 
smell  of  badly  trimmed  kerosene  lamps;  and 
this  stench,  combined  with  that  of  native  to- 
bacco, baked  brick,  and  dried  earth,  sends  the 
heart  of  many  a  strong  man  down  to  his  boots, 
for  it  is  the  smell  of  the  great  Indian  Empire 
when  she  turns  herself  for  six  months  into  a 
house  of  torment.  Spurstow  packed  his  pil- 
lows craftily,  so  that  he  reclined  rather  than 
lay,  his  head  at  a  safe  elevation  above  his  feet. 
It  is  not  good  to  sleep  on  a  low  pillow  in  the 
hot  weather  if  you  happen  to  be  of  thick- 
necked  build,  for  you  may  pass  with  lively 
snores  and  gurglings  from  natural  sleep  into 
the  deep  slumber  of  heat-apoplexy. 

"Pack  your  pillows,"  said  the  doctor, 
sharply,  as  he  saw  Hummil  preparing  .to  lie 
down  at  full  length. 


152  AT  THE  END  OF 

The  night-light  was  trimmed;  the  shadow 
of  the  punkah  wavered  across  the  room,  and  the 
Hick  of  the  punkah-towel  and  the  soft  whine 
of  the  rope  through  the  wall-hole  followed  it. 
Then  the  punkah  flagged,  almost  ceased.  The 
sweat  poured  from  Spurstow's  brow.  Should 
he  go  out  and  harangue  the  coolie  ?  It  started 
forward  again  with  a  savage  jerk,  and  a  pin 
came  out  of  the  towels.  When  this  was  re- 
placed, a  tom-tom  in  the  coolie  lines  began  to 
beat  with  the  steady  throb  of  a  swollen  artery 
inside  some  brain-fevercJ  skull.  Spurstow 
turned  on  his  side  and  swore  gently.  There 
was  no  movement  on  Hummil's  part.  The 
man  had  composed  himself  as  rigidly  as  a 
corpse,  his  hands  clinched  at  his  sides.  The 
respiration  was  too  hurried  for  any  suspicion 
of  sleep.  Spurstow  looked  at  the  set  face. 
The  jaws  were  clinched,  and  there  was  a 
pucker  round  the  quivering  eyelids. 

"He's  holding  himself  as  tightly  as  ever  he 
can,"  thought  Spurstow.  "What  a  sham  it  is ! 
and  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  him  ? 
— Hummiir 

"Yes." 

"Can't  you  get  to  sleep?" 

"No."   " 

"Head  hot?  Throat  feeling  bulgy?  or 
how?" 


THE  PASSAGE  153 

"Neither,  thanks.  I  don't  sleep  much,  you 
know." 

"Feel  pretty  bad?" 

"Pretty  bad,  thanks.  There  is  a  tom-tom 
outside,  isn't  there?  I  thought  it  was  my 
head  at  first.  Oh,  Spurstow,  for  pity's  sake, 
give  me  something  that  will  put  me  asleep — 
sound  sleep — if  it's  only  for  six  hours!"  He 
sprung  up.  "I  haven't  been  able  to  sleep  nat- 
urally for  days,  and  I  can't  stand  it! — I  can't 
stand  it!" 

"Poor  old  chap!" 

"That's  no  use.  Give  me  something  to  make 
me  sleep.  I  tell  you  I'm  nearly  mad.  I  don't 
know  what  I  say  half  my  time.  For  three 
weeks  I've  had  to  think  and  spell  out  every 
word  that  has  come  through  my  lips  before 
I  dared  say  it.  I  had  to  get  my  sentences  out 
down  to  the  last  word,  for  fear  of  talking 
drivel  if  I  didn't.  Isn't  that  enough  to  drive 
a  man  mad  ?  I  can't  see  things  correctly  now, 
and  I've  lost  my  sense  of  touch.  Make  me 
sleep.  Oh,  Spurstow,  for  the  love  of  God, 
make  me  sleep  sound.  It  isn't  enough  merely 
to  let  me  dream.    Let  me  sleep !" 

"All  right,  old  man,  all  right.  Go  slow. 
You  aren't  half  as  bad  as  you  think"  The 
flood-gates  of  reserve  once  broken,  Hummil 
was  clinging  to  him  like  a  frightened  child. 


154  AT  THE  END  OF 

"You're  pinching  my  arm  to  pieces." 

"I'll  break  your  neck  if  you  don't  do  some- 
thing for  me.  No,  I  didn't  mean  that.  Don't 
be  angry,  old  fellow."  He  wiped  the  sweat  off 
himself  as  he  fought  to  regain  composure. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  a  bit  restless  and  off 
my  oats,  and  perhaps  you  could  recommend 
some  sort  of  sleeping-mixture — bromide  of 
potassium." 

"Bromide  of  skittles!  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  this  before?  Let  go  of  my  arm,  and  I'll 
see  if  there's  anything  in  my  cigarette-case  to 
suit  your  complaint."  He  hunted  among  his 
day-clothes,  turned  up  the  lamp,  opened  a  lit- 
tle silver  cigarette-case,  and  advanced  on  the 
expectant  Hummil  with  the  daintiest  of  fairy 
squirts. 

"The  last  appeal  of  civilization,"  said  he, 
"and  a  thing  I  hate  to  use.  Hold  out  your 
arm.  Well,  your  sleeplessness  hasn't  ruined 
your  muscle;  and  what  a  th'ck  hide  it  is! 
Might  as  well  inject  a  buffalo  subcutaneously. 
Now  in  a  few  minutes  the  morphia  will  begin 
working.    Lie  down  and  wait." 

A  smile  of  unalloyed  and  idiotic  delight 
began  to  creep  over  Hummil's  face.  "I 
think,"  he  whispered — "I  think  I'm  going  off 
now.     Gad!  it's  positively  heavenly!     Spurs- 


THE  PASSAGE  1 55 

tow,  you  must  give  me  that  case  to  keep ;  you" 
—    The  voice  ceased  as  the  head  fell  back. 

"Not  for  a  good  deal,"  said  Spurstow  to  the 
unconscious  form.  "And  now,  my  friend, 
sleeplessness  of  your  kind  being  very  apt  to  re- 
lax the  moral  fibre  in  little  matters  of  life  and 
death,  I'll  just  take  the  liberty  of  spiking  your 
guns." 

He  paddled  into  Hummil's  saddle-room  in 
his  bare  feet,  and  uncased  a  twelve-bore,  an 
express,  and  a  revolver.  Of  the  first  he  un- 
screwed the  nipples  and  hid  them  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  saddlery-case;  of  the  second  he  ab- 
stracted the  lever,  placing  it  behind  a  big  ward- 
robe. The  third  he  merely  opened,  and 
knocked  the  doll-head  bolt  of  the  grip  up  with 
the  heel  of  the  riding-boot. 

"That's  settled,"  he  said,  as  he  shook  the 
sweat  off  his  hands.  "These  little  precautions 
will  at  least  give  you  time  to  turn.  You  have 
too  much  sympathy  with  gun-room  accidents." 

And  as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  the  thick 
muffled  voice  of  Hummil  cried  in  the  door- 
way: "You  fool!" 

Such  tones  they  use  who  speak  in  the  lucid 
intervals  of  delirium  to  their  friends  a  little 
before  they  die. 

Spurstow  jumped  with  sheer  fright.    Hum- 


156  AT  THE  END  OF 

mil  stood  in  the  doorway,  rocking  with  help- 
less laughter. 

"That  was  awf'ly  good  of  you,  I'm  sure," 
he  said,  very  slowly,  feeling  for  his  words.  "I 
don't  intend  to  go  out  by  my  own  hand  at 
present.  I  say,  Spurstow,  that  stuff  won't 
work.  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?" 
A  panic  terror  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Lie  down  and  give  it  a  chance.  Lie  down 
at  once." 

"I  daren't.  It  will  only  take  me  half-way 
again,  and  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  away  this 
time.  Do  you  know  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
come  out  just  now?  Generally  I  am  as  quick 
as  lightning ;  but  you  have  clogged  my  feet.  I 
was  nearly  caught." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand.    Go  and  lie  down." 

"No,  it  isn't  delirium ;  but  it  was  an  awfully 
mean  trick  to  play  on  me.  Do  you  know  I 
might  have  died?" 

As  a  sponge  rubs  a  slate  clean,  so  some 
power  unknown  to  Spurstow  had  wiped  out 
of  Hummil's  face  all  that  stamped  it  for  the 
face  of  a  man,  and  he  stood  at  the  doorway  in 
the  expression  of  his  lost  innocence.  He  had 
slept  back  into  terrified  childhood. 

"Is  he  going  to  die  on  the  spot?"  thought 
Spurstow.     Then,  aloud:  "All  right,  my  son. 


THE  PASSAGE  157 

Come  back  to  bed,  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
You  couldn't  sleep;  but  what  was  all  the  rest 
of  the  nonsense?" 

"A  place — a  place  down  there,"  said  Hum- 
mil,  with  simple  sincerity.  The  drug  was 
acting  on  him  by  waves,  and  he  was  flung 
from  the  fear  of  a  strong  man  to  the  fright 
of  a  child  as  his  nerves  gathered  sense  or 
were  dulled. 

"Good  God!  I've  been  afraid  of  it  for 
months  past,  Spurstow.  It  has  made  every 
night  hell  to  me;  and  yet  I'm  not  conscious 
of  having  done  anything  wrong." 

"Be  still,  and  I'll  give  you  another  dose. 
We'll  stop  your  nightmares,  you  unutterable 
idiot!" 

"Yes,  but  you  must  give  me  so  much  that  I 
can't  get  away.  You  must  make  me  quite 
sleepy — not  just  a  little  sleepy.  It's  so  hard 
to  run  then." 

"I  know  it;  I  know  it.  I've  felt  it  myself. 
The  symptoms  are  exactly  as  you  describe." 

"Oh,  don't  laugh  at  me,  confound  you !  Be- 
fore this  awful  sleeplessness  came  to  me  I've 
tried  to  rest  on  my  elbow  and  put  a  spur  in 
the  bed  to  sting  me  when  I  fell  back.    Look !" 

"By  Jove!  the  man  has  been  roweled  like 
a  horse!     Ridden   by   the   nightmare   with  a 


158  AT  THE  END  OF 

vengeance!  And  we  all  thought  him  sensible 
enough.  Heaven  send  us  understanding!  You 
like  to  talk,  don't  you,  old  man?" 

"Yes,  sometimes.  Not  when  I'm  fright- 
ened.    Then  I  want  to  run.     Don't  you?" 

"Always.  Before  I  give  you  your  second 
dose,  try  to  tell  me  exactly  what  your  trouble 
is." 

Hummil  spoke  in  broken  whispers  for 
nearly  ten  minutes,  while  Spurstow  looked 
into  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  and  passed  his  hand 
before  them  once  or  twice. 

At  the  end  of  the  narrative  the  silver  cig- 
arette-case was  produced,  and  the  last  words 
that  Hummil  said  as  he  fell  back  for  the 
second  time  were:  "Put  me  quite  to  sleep; 
for  if  I'm  caught,  I  die — I  die!" 

"Yes,  yes;  we  all  do  that  sooner  or  later, 
thank  Heaven!  who  has  set  a  term  to  our 
miseries,"  said  Spurstow,  setting  the  cushions 
under  the  head.  "It  occurs  to  me  that  unless 
I  drink  something  I  shall  go  out  before  my 
time.  I've  stopped  sweating,  and  I  wear  a 
seventeen-inch  collar."  And  he  brewed  him- 
self scalding  hot  tea,  which  is  an  excellent 
remedy  against  heat-apoplexy  if  you  take  three 
or  four  cups  of  it  in  time.  Then  he  watched 
the  sleeper. 


THE  PASSAGE  159 

"A  blind  face  that  cries  and  can't  wipe  its 
eyes.  H'm!  Decidedly,  Hummil  ought  to  go 
on  leave  as  soon  as  possible;  and,  sane  or 
otherwise,  he  undoubtedly  did  rowel  himself 
most  cruelly.  Well,  Heaven  send  us  under- 
standing!" 

At  midday  Hummil  rose,  with  an  evil  taste 
in  his  mouth,  but  an  unclouded  eye  and  a  joy- 
ful heart. 

"I  was  pretty  bad  last  night,  wasn't  I?" 
said  he. 

"I  have  seen  healthier  men.  You  must  have 
had  a  touch  of  the  sun.  Look  here :  if  I  write 
you  a  swingeing  medical  certificate,  will  you 
apply  for  leave  on  the  spot?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?     You  want  it." 

"Yes,  but  I  can  hold  on  till  the  weather's 
a  little  cooler." 

"Why  should  you,  if  you  can  get  relieved 
on  the  spot?" 

"Burkett  is  the  only  man  who  could  be 
sent;  and  he's  a  born  fool." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  the  line.  You 
aren't  so  important  as  all  that.  Wire  for 
leave,  if  necessary." 

Hummil  looked  very  uncomfortable. 

"I  can  hold  on  till  the  rains,"  he  said,  eva- 
sively. 


160  AT  THE  END  OF 

"You  can't.  Wire  to  headquarters  for  Bur- 
kett." 

"I  won't.  If  you  want  to  know  why,  par- 
ticularly, Burkett  is  married,  and  his  wife's 
just  had  a  kid,  and  she's  up  at  Simla,  in  the 
cool,  and  Burkett  has  a  very  nice  billet  that 
takes  him  into  Simla  from  Saturday  to  Mon- 
day. That  little  woman  isn't  at  all  well.  If 
Burkett  was  transferred  she'd  try  to  follow 
him.  If  she  left  the  baby  behind  she'd  fret 
herself  to  death.  If  she  came — and  Burkett's 
one  of  those  selfish  little  beasts  who  are  al- 
ways talking  about  a  wife's  place  being  with 
her  husband — she'd  die.  Its  murder  to  bring 
a  woman  here  just  now.  Burkett  has  got 
the  physique  of  a  rat.  If  he  came  here  he'd 
go  out;  and  I  know  she  hasn't  any  money, 
and  I'm  pretty  sure  she'd  go  out  too.  I'm 
salted  in  a  sort  of  way,  and  I'm  not  married. 
Wait  till  the  rains,  and  then  Burkett  can  get 
thin  down  here.     It'll  do  him  heaps  of  good." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to 
face — what  you  have  faced,  for  the  next  fifty- 
six  nights?" 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  so  bad,  now  you've  shown 
me  a  way  out  of  it.  I  can  always  wire  to 
you.  Besides,  now  I've  once  got  into  the  way 
of   sleeping,    it'll   be   all    right.      Anyhow,    I 


THE  PASSAGE  161 

sha'n't  put  in  for  leave.  That's  the  long  and 
the  short  of  it." 

"My  great  Scott!  I  thought  all  that  sort 
of  thing  was  dead  and  done  with." 

"Bosh!  You'd  do  the  same  yourself.  I 
feel  a  new  man,  thanks  to  that  cigarette-case. 
You're  going  over  to  camp  now,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes ;  but  I'll  try  to  look  you  up  every  other 
day,  if  I  can." 

"I'm  not  bad  enough  for  that.  I  don't  want 
you  to  bother.  Give  the  coolies  gin  and  ketch- 
up." 

"Then  you  feel  all  right?" 

"Fit  to  fight  for  my  life,  but  not  to  stand 
out  in  the  sun  talking  to  you.  Go  along,  old 
man,  and  bless  you!" 

Hummil  turned  on  his  heel  to  face  the  echo- 
ing desolation  of  his  bungalow,  and  the  first 
thing  he  saw  standing  in  the  veranda  was  the 
figure  of  himself.  He  had  met  a  similar  ap- 
parition once  before,  when  he  was  suffering 
from  overwork  and  the  strain  of  the  hot 
weather. 

"This  is  bad — already,"  he  said,  rubbing  his 
eyes.  "If  the  thing  slides  away  from  me  all 
in  one  piece,  like  a  ghost,  I  shall  know  it  is 
only  my  eyes  and  stomach  that  are  out  of  or- 
der. If  it  walks,  I  shall  know  that  my  head 
is  going." 


1 62  AT  THE  END  OF 

He  walked  to  the  figure,  which  naturally 
kept  at  an  unvarying  distance  from  him,  as 
is  the  use  of  all  spectres  that  are  born  of  over- 
work. It  slid  through  the  house  and  dissolved 
into  swimming  specks  within  the  eyeball  as 
soon  as  it  reached  the  burning  light  of  the 
garden.  Hummil  went  about  his  business  till 
even.  When  he  came  into  dinner  he  found 
himself  sitting  at  the  table.  The  thing  rose 
and  walked  out  hastily. 

No  living  man  knows  what  that  week  held 
for  Hummil.  An  increase  of  the  epidemic 
kept  Spurstow  in  camp  among  the  coolies,  and 
all  he  could  do  was  to  telegraph  to  Mottram, 
bidding  him  go  to  the  bungalow  and  sleep 
there.  But  Mottram  was  forty  miles  away 
from  the  nearest  telegraph,  and  knew  nothing 
of  anything  save  the  needs  of  the  survey  till 
he  met  early  on  Sunday  morning  Lowndes 
and  Spurstow  heading  toward  Hummil's  for 
the  weekly  gathering. 

"Hope  the  poor  chap's  in  a  better  temper," 
said  the  former,  swinging  himself  off  his  horse 
at  the  door.     "I  suppose  he  isn't  up  yet." 

"I'll  just  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "If  he's  asleep  there's  no  need  to  wake 
him." 

And  an  instant  later,  by  the  tone  of  Spur- 


THE  PASSAGE  163 

stow's  voice  calling  upon  them  to  enter,  the 
men  knew  what  had  happened. 

The  punkah  was  still  being  pulled  over  the 
bed,  but  Hummil  had  departed  this  life  at 
least  three  hours  before. 

The  body  lay  on  its  back,  hands  clinched 
by  the  side,  as  Spurstow  had  seen  it  lying  seven 
nights  previously.  In  the  staring  eyes  was 
written  terror  beyond  the  expression  of  any 
pen. 

Mottram,  who  had  entered  behind  Lowndes, 
bent  over  the  dead  and  touched  the  forehead 
lightly  with  his  lips.  "Oh,  you  lucky,  lucky 
devil!"  he  whispered. 

But  Lowndes  had  seen  the  eyes,  and  had 
withdrawn  shuddering  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room. 

"Poor  chap!  poor  chap!  And  the  last  time 
I  met  him  I  was  angry.  Spurstow,  we  should 
have  watched  him.     Has  he" — 

Deftly  Spurstow  continued  his  investiga- 
tions, ending  by  a  search  round  the  room. 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  he  snapped.  "There's  no 
trace  of  anything.     Call  in  the  servants." 

They  came,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  whisper- 
ing and  peering  over  each  other's  shoulders. 

"When  did  your  sahib  go  to  bed?"  said 
Spurstow. 


164  AT  THE  END  OF 

"At  eleven  or  ten,  we  think,"  said  HummU's 
personal   servant. 

"He  was  well  then?  But  how  should  you 
know?" 

"He  was  not  ill,  as  far  as  our  comprehen- 
sion extended.  But  he  had  slept  very  little 
for  three  nights.  This  I  know,  because  I  saw 
him  walking  much,  and  especially  in  the  heart 
of  the  night." 

As  Spurstow  was  arranging  the  sheet,  a 
big,  straight-necked  hunting-spur  tumbled  on 
the  ground.  The  doctor  groaned.  The  per- 
sonal servant  peeped  at  the  body. 

"What  do  you  think,  Chuma?"  said  Spur- 
stow, catching  the  look  in  the  dark  face. 

"Heaven-born,  in  my  poor  opinion,  this  that 
was  my  master  has  descended  into  the  Dark 
Places,  and  there  has  been  caught,  because 
he  was  not  able  to  escape  with  sufficient  speed. 
We  have  the  spur  for  evidence  that  he  fought 
with  Fear.  Thus  have  I  seen  men  of  my  race 
do  with  thorns  when  a  spell  was  laid  upon 
them  to  overtake  them  in  their  sleeping  hours 
and  they  dared  not  sleep." 

"Chuma,  you're  a  mud-head.  Go  out  and 
prepare  seals  to  be  set  on  the  sahib's  property." 

"God  has  made  the  heaven-born.  God  has 
made  me.     Who  are  we,  to  inquire  into  the 


THE  PASSAGE  165 

dispensations  of  God?  I  will  bid  the  other 
servants  hold  aloof  while  you  are  reckoning 
the  tale  of  the  sahib's  property.  They  are 
all  thieves,  and  would  steal.,, 

"As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  he  died  from-*- 
oh,  anything:  stopping  of  the  heart's  action, 
heat-apoplexy,  or  some  other  visitation,"  said 
Spurstow  to  his  companions.  "We  must  make 
an  inventory  of  his  effects,  and  so  on." 

"He  was  scared  to  death,"  insisted  Lowndes. 
"Look  at  those  eyes!  For  pity's  sake,  don't 
let  him  be  buried  with  them  open!" 

"Whatever  it  was,  he's  out  of  all  the 
trouble  now,"  said  Mottram,  softly. 

Spurstow  was  peering  into  the  open  eyes. 

"Come  here,"  said  he.  "Can  you  see  any- 
thing there  ?" 

"I  can't  face  it!"  whimpered  Lowndes. 
"Cover  up  the  face!  Is  there  any  fear  on 
earth  that  can  turn  a  man  into  that  likeness? 
It's  ghastly.     Oh,  Spurstow,  cover  him  up!" 

"No  fear — on  earth,"  said  Spurstow.  Mot- 
tram  leaned  over  his  shoulder  and  looked  in- 
tently. 

"I  see  nothing  except  some  grey  blurs  in 
the  pupil.  There  can  be  nothing  there,  you 
know." 

"Even  so.    Well,  let's  think.    I'll  take  half  a 


166  AT  THE  END  OF 

a  day  to  knock  up  any  sort  of  coffin;  and  He 
must  have  died  at  midnight.  Lowndes,  old 
man,  go  out  and  tell  the  coolies  to  break 
ground  next  to  Jevins'  grave.  Mottram,  go 
round  the  house  with  Chuma  and  see  that  the 
seals  are  put  on  things.  Send  a  couple  of 
men  to  me  here,  and  I'll  arrange." 

The  strong-armed  servants  when  they  re- 
turned to  their  own  kind  told  a  strange  story 
of  the  doctor  sahib  vainly  trying  to  call  their 
master  back  to  life  by  magic  arts — to  wit,  the 
holding  of  a  little  green  box  opposite  each  of 
the  dead  man's  eyes,  of  a  frequent  clicking  of 
the  same,  and  of  a  bewildered  muttering  on 
the  part  of  the  doctor  sahib,  who  subsequently 
took  the  little  green  box  away  with  him. 

The  resonant  hammering  of  a  coffin  lid  is  no 
pleasant  thing  to  hear,  but  those  who  have 
experience  maintain  that  much  more  terrible 
is  the  soft  swish  of  the  bed-linen,  the  reeving 
and  unreeving  of  the  bed-tapes,  when  he  who 
has  fallen  by  the  roadside  is  appareled  for 
burial,  sinking  gradually  as  the  tapes  are  tied 
over,  till  the  swaddled  shape  touches  the  floor 
and  there  is  no  protest  against  the  indignity 
of  hasty  disposal. 

At  the  last  moment  Lowndes  was  seized 
with  scruples  of  conscience.     "Ought  you  to 


THE  PASSAGE  167 

read  the  service — from  beginning  to  end?" 
said  he. 

"I  intend  to.  You're  my  senior  as  a  civilian. 
You  can  take  it,  if  you  like." 

"I  didn't  mean  that  for  a  moment,  I  only 
thought  if  we  could  get  a  chaplain  from  some- 
where— I'm  willing  to  ride  anywhere — and 
give  poor  Hummil  a  better  chance.  That's 
all." 

"Bosh!"  said  Spurstow,  as  he  framed  his 
lips  to  the  tremendous  words  that  stand  at  the 
head  of  the  burial  service. 

After  breakfast  they  smoked  a  pipe  in  si- 
lence to  the  memory  of  the  dead.  Then  said 
Spurstow,  absently: 

"  'Tisn't  in  medical  science." 

"What?" 

"Things  in  a  dead  man's  eyes." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  leave  that  horror 
alone!"  said  Lowndes.  "I've  seen  a  native  die 
of  fright  when  a  tiger  chivied  him.  I  know 
what  killed  Hummil." 

"The  deuce  you  do!  I'm  going  to  try  to 
see."  And  the  doctor  retreated  into  the  bath- 
room with  a  Kodak  camera,  splashing  and 
grunting  for  ten  minutes.  Then  there  was 
the  sound  of  something  being  hammered  to 


168  AT  THE  END  OF 

pieces,  and  Spurstow  emerged,  very  white 
indeed. 

"Have  you  got  a  picture?"  said  Mottram. 
"What  does  the  thing  look  like?" 

"Nothing  there.  It  was  impossible,  of 
course.  You  needn't  look,  Mottram.  I've 
torn  up  the  films.  There  was  nothing  there. 
It  was  impossible." 

"That,"  said  Lowndes,  very  distinctly, 
watching  the  shaking  hand  striving  to  relight 
the  pipe,  "is  a  damned  lie." 

There  was  no  further  speech  for  a  long 
time.  The  hot  wind  whistled  without,  and  the 
dry  trees  sobbed.  Presently  the  daily  train, 
winking  brass,  burnished  steel,  and  spouting 
steam,  pulled  up  panting  in  the  intense  glare. 
"We'd  better  go  on  on  that,"  said  Spurstow. 
"Go  back  to  work.  I've  written  my  certifi- 
cate. We  can't  do  any  more  good  here.  Come 
on." 

No  one  moved.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  face 
railway  journeys  at  midday  in  June.  Spur- 
stow gathered  up  his  hat  and  whip,  and,  turn- 
ing in  the  doorway,  said: 

"There  may  be  heaven — there  must  be  hell. 
Meantime,  there  is  our  life  here.    We-ell?" 

But  neither  Mottram  nor  Lowndes  had  any 
answer  to  the  question. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 


LET  it  be  clearly  understood  that  the  Rus- 
sian is  a  delightful  person  till  he  tucks 
his  shirt  in.  As  an  oriental  he  is  charming.  It 
is  only  when  he  insists  upon  being  treated 
as  the  most  easterly  of  Western  peoples,  in- 
stead of  the  most  westerly  of  Easterns,  that 
he  becomes  a  racial  anomaly  extremely  difficult 
to  handle.  The  host  never  knows  which  side 
of  his  nature  is  going  to  turn  up  next. 

Dirkovitch  was  a  Russian — a  Russian  of 
the  Russians,  as  he  said — who  appeared  to  get 
his  bread  by  serving  the  czar  as  an  officer  in 
a  Cossack  regiment,  and  corresponding  for  a 
Russian  newspaper  with  a  name  that  was  never 
twice  the  same.  He  was  a  handsome  young 
Oriental,  with  a  taste  for  wandering  through 
unexplored  portions  of  the  earth,  and  he  ar- 
rived in  India  from  nowhere  in  particular. 
At  least  no  living  man  could  ascertain  whether 
it  was  by  way  of  Balkh,  Budukhshan,  Chitral, 
Beloochistan,  Nepaul,  or  anywhere  else.  The 
Indian  government,  being  in  an  unusually  af- 
171 


172  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

fable  mood,  gave  orders  that  he  was  to  be 
civilly  treated,  and  shown  everything  that  was 
to  be  seen;  so  he  drifted,  talking  bad  English 
and  worse  French,  from  one  city  to  another 
till  he  foregathered  with  her  Majesty's  White 
Hussars  in  the  city  of  Peshawur,  which  stands 
at  the  mouth  of  that  narrow  swordcut  in  the 
hills  that  men  call  the  Khyber  Pass.  He  was 
undoubtedly  an  officer,  and  he  was  decor- 
ated, after  the  manner  of  the  Russians,  with 
little  enameled  crosses,  and  he  could  talk,  and 
(though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  mer- 
its) he  had  been  given  up  as  a  hopeless  task 
or  case  by  the  Black  Tyrones,  who,  individu- 
ally and  collectively,  with  hot  whisky  and 
honey,  mulled  brandy  and  mixed  spirits  of  all 
kinds,  had  striven  in  all  hospitality  to  make 
him  drunk.  And  when  the  Black  Tyrones, 
who  are  exclusively  Irish,  fail  to  disturb  the 
peace  of  the  head  of  a  foreigner,  that  for- 
eigner is  certain  to  be  a  superior  man.  This 
was  the  argument  of  the  Black  Tyrones,  but 
they  were  ever  an  unruly  and  self-opinionated 
regiment,  and  they  allowed  junior  subalterns 
of  four  years'  service  to  choose  their  wines. 
The  spirits  were  always  purchased  by  the 
colonel  and  a  committee  of  majors.  And  a 
regiment  that  would  so  behave  may  be  re- 
spected but  cannot  be  loved. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  173 

The  White  Hussars  were  as  conscientious 
in  choosing  their  wine  as  in  charging  the  ene- 
my. There  was  a  brandy  that  had  been  pur- 
chased by  a  cultured  colonel  a  few  years  after 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.  It  has  been  maturing 
ever  since,  and  it  was  a  marvelous  brandy  at 
the  purchasing.  The  memory  of  that  liquor 
would  cause  men  to  weep  as  they  lay  dying 
in  the  teak  forests  of  Upper  Burmah  or  the 
slime  of  the  Irrawaddy.  And  there  was  a  port 
which  was  notable ;  and  there  was  a  champagne 
of  an  obscure  brand,  which  always  came  to 
mess  without  any  labels,  because  the  White 
Hussars  wished  none  to  know  where  the  source 
of  supply  might  be  found.  The  officer  on 
whose  head  the  champagne-choosing  lay  was 
forbidden  the  use  of  tobacco  for  six  weeks 
previous  to  sampling. 

This  particularity  of  detail  is  necessary  to 
emphasize  the  fact  that  that  champagne,  that 
port,  and,  above  all,  that  brandy — the  green 
and  yellow  and  white  liquors  did  not  count — 
was  placed  at  the  absolute  disposition  of  Dirk- 
ovitch,  and  he  enjoyed  himself  hugely — even 
more  than  among  the  black  Tyrones. 

But  he  remained  distressingly  European 
through  it  all.  The  White  Hussars  were — 
"My  dear  true  friends,"  "Fellow-soldiers  glor- 


174  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

ious,"  and  "Brothers  inseparable."  He  would 
unburden  himself  by  the  hour  on  the  glorious 
future  that  awaited  the  combined  arms  of  En- 
gland and  Russia  when  their  hearts  and  their 
territories  should  run  side  by  side,  and  the 
great  mission  of  civilizing  Asia  should  begin. 
That  was  unsatisfactory,  because  Asia  is  not 
going  to  be  civilized  after  the  methods  of  the 
West.  There  is  too  much  Asia,  and  she  is  too 
old.  You  cannot  reform  a  lady  of  many  lov- 
ers, and  Asia  has  been  insatiable  in  her  flirta- 
tions aforetime.  She  will  never  attend 
Sunday-school,  or  learn  to  vote  save  with 
swords  for  tickets. 

Dirkovitch  knew  this  as  well  as  anyone  else, 
but  it  suited  him  to  talk  special-correspon- 
dently  and  to  make  himself  as  genial  as  he 
could.  Now  and  then  he  volunteered  a  little, 
a  very  little,  information  about  his  own  Sotnia 
of  Cossacks,  left  apparently  to  look  after  them- 
selves somewhere  at  the  back  of  beyond.  He 
had  done  rough  work  in  Central  Asia,  and 
had  seen  rather  more  help-ycurself  fighting 
than  most  men  of  his  years.  But  he  was  care- 
ful never  to  betray  his  superiority,  and  more 
than  careful  to  praise  on  all  occasions  the  ap- 
pearance, drill,  uniform,  and  organization  of 
her  Majesty's  White  Hussars.     And,  indeed, 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  175 

they  were  a  regiment  to  be  admired.  When 
Mrs.  Durgan,  widow  of  the  late  Sir  John 
Durgan,  arrived  in  their  station,  and  after  a 
short  time  had  been  proposed  to  by  every 
single  man  at  mess,  she  put  the  public  senti- 
ment very  neatly  when  she  explained  that 
they  were  all  so  nice  that  unless  she  could 
marry  them  all,  including  the  colonel  and  some 
majors  who  were  already  married,  she  was 
not  going  to  content  herself  with  one  of  them. 
Wherefore  she  wedded  a  little  man  in  a  rifle 
regiment — being  by  nature  contradictious — ■ 
and  the  White  Hussars  were  going  to  wear 
crape  on  their  arms,  but  compromised  by  at- 
tending the  wedding  in  full  force,  and  lining 
the  aisle  with  unutterable  reproach.  She  had 
jilted  them  all — from  Basset-Holmer,  the 
senior  captain,  to  Little  Mildred,  the  last  sub- 
altern, and  he  could  have  given  her  four  thou- 
sand a  year  and  a  title.  He  was  a  viscount, 
and  on  his  arrival  the  mess  had  said  he  had 
better  go  into  the  Guards,  because  they  were 
all  sons  of  large  grocers  and  small  clothiers 
in  the  Hussars,  but  Mildred  begged  very  hard 
to  be  allowed  to  stay,  and  behaved  so  prettily 
that  he  was  forgiven,  and  became  a  man, 
which  is  much  more  important  than  being 
any  sort  of  viscount. 


176  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

The  only  persons  who  did  not  share  the  gen* 
eral  regard  for  the  White  Hussars  were  a  few 
thousand  gentlemen  of  Jewish  extraction  who 
lived  across  the  border,  and  answered  to  the 
name  of  Pathan.  They  had  only  met  the  regi- 
ment officially,  and  for  something  less  than 
twenty  minutes,  but  the  interview,  which  was 
complicated  with  many  casualties,  had  filled 
them  with  prejudice.  They  even  called  the 
White  Hussars  "children  of  the  devil,"  and 
sons  of  persons  whom  it  would  be  perfectly 
impossible  to  meet  in  decent  society.  Yet  they 
were  not  above  making  their  aversion  fill  their 
money-belts.  The  regiment  possessed  car- 
bines, beautiful  Martini-Henry  carbines,  that 
would  cob  a  bullet  into  an  enemy's  camp  at 
one  thousand  yards,  and  were  even  handier 
than  the  long  rifle.  Therefore  they  were 
coveted  all  along  the  border,  and,  since  de- 
mand inevitably  breeds  supply,  they  were  sup- 
plied at  the  risk  of  life  and  limb  for  exactly 
their  weight  in  coined  silver — seven  and  one 
half  pounds  of  rupees,  or  sixten  pounds  and  a 
few  shillings  each,  reckoning  the  rupee  at  par. 
They  were  stolen  at  night  by  snaky-haired 
thieves  that  crawled  on  their  stomachs  under 
the  nose  of  the  sentries ;  they  disappeared 
mysteriously  from  arm-racks;  and  in  the  hot 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  177 

■weather,  when  all  the  doors  and  windows  were 
open,  they  vanished  like  puffs  of  their  own 
smoke.  The  border  people  desired  them  first 
for  their  own  family  vendettas,  and  then  for 
contingencies.  But  in  the  long  cold  nights  of 
the  Northern  Indian  winter  they  were  stolen 
most  extensively.  The  traffic  of  murder  was 
liveliest  among  the  hills  at  that  season,  and 
prices  ruled  high.  The  regimental  guards 
were  first  doubled  and  then  trebled.  A 
trooper  does  not  much  care  if  he  loses  a  weapon 
i — government  must  make  it  good — but  he 
deeply  resents  the  loss  of  his  sleep.  The  regi- 
ment grew  very  angry,  and  one  night-thief 
who  managed  to  limp  away  bears  the  visible 
marks  of  their  anger  upon  him  to  this  hour. 
That  incident  stopped  the  burglaries  for  a 
time,  and  the  guards  were  reduced  accord- 
ingly, and  the  regiment  devoted  itself  to  polo 
with  unexpected  results,  for  it  beat  by  two 
goals  to  one  that  very  terrible  polo  corps  the 
Lushkar  Light  Horse,  though  the  latter  had 
four  ponies  a  piece  for  a  short  hour's  fight, 
as  well  as  a  native  officer  who  played  like  a 
lambent  flame  across  the  ground. 

Then  they  gave  a  dinner  to  celebrate  the 
event.  The  Lushkar  team  came,  and  Dirko- 
vitch  came,  in  the  fullest  full  uniform  of  a 


178  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

Cossack  officer,  which  is  as  full  as  a  dressing- 
gown,  and  was  introduced  to  the  Lushkars, 
and  opened  his  eyes  as  he  regarded  them. 
They  were  lighter  men  than  the  Hussars,  and 
they  carried  themselves  with  the  swing  that  is 
the  peculiar  right  of  the  Punjab  frontier  force 
and  all  irregular  horse.  Like  everything  else 
in  the  service,  it  has  to  be  learned ;  but,  unlike 
many  things,  it  is  never  forgotten,  and  re- 
mains on  the  body  till  death. 

The  great  beam-roofed  mess-room  of  the 
White  Hussars  was  a  sight  to  be  remembered. 
All  the  mess-plate  was  on  the  long  table — the 
same  table  that  had  served  up  the  bodies  of 
five  dead  officers  in  a  forgotten  fight  long  and 
long  ago  —  the  dingy,  battered  standards 
faced  the  door  of  entrance,  clumps  of  winter 
roses  lay  between  the  silver  candlesticks,  the 
portraits  of  eminent  officers  deceased  looked 
down  on  their  successors  from  between  the 
heads  of  sambhur,  nilghai,  maikhor,  and, 
pride  of  all  the  mess,  two  grinning  snow-leop- 
ards that  had  cost  Basset-Holmer  four 
months'  leave  that  he  might  have  spent  in 
England  instead  of  on  the  road  to  Thibet,  and 
the  daily  risk  of  his  life  on  ledge,  snow-slide, 
and  grassy  grass-slope. 

The  servants,  in  spotless  white  muslin  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  179 

the  crest  of  their  regiments  on  the  brow  of 
their  turbans,  waited  behind  their  masters, 
who  were  clad  in  the  scarlet  and  gold  of  the 
White  Hussars  and  the  cream  and  silver  of 
the  Lushkar  Light  Horse.  Dirkovitch's  dull 
green  uniform  was  the  only  dark  spot  at  the 
board,  but  his  big  onyx  eyes  made  up  for  it. 
He  was  fraternizing  effusively  with  the  cap- 
tain of  the  Lushkar  team,  who  was  wondering 
how  many  of  Dirkovitch's  Cossacks  his  own, 
long,  lathy,  down-countrymen  could  account 
for  in  a  fair  charge.  But  one  does  not  speak 
of  these  things  openly. 

The  talk  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  the 
regimental  band  played  bet  wen  the  courses,  as 
is  the  immemorial  custom,  till  all  tongues 
ceased  for  a  moment  with  the  removal  of  the 
dinner  slips  and  the  First  Toast  of  Obligation, 
when  the  colonel,  rising,  said:  "Mr.  Vice,  the 
Queen,"  and  Little  Mildred  from  the  bottom 
of  the  table  answered :  "The  Queen,  God  bless 
her!"  and  the  big  spurs  clanked  ;.as  the  big 
men  heaved  themselves  up  and  drank  the 
Queen,  upon  whose  pay  they  were  falsely 
supposed  to  pay  their  mess-bills.  That  sacra- 
ment of  the  mess  never  grows  old,  and  never 
ceases  to  bring  a  lump  into  the  throat  of  the  lis- 
tener wherever  he  be,  by  land  or  by  sea.  Dirk- 


180  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

ovitch  rose  with  his  "brothers  glorious,"  but 
he  could  not  understand.  No  one  but  an  offi- 
cer can  understand  what  the  toast  means ;  and 
the  bulk  have  more  sentiment  than  compre- 
hension. It  all  comes  to  the  same  in  the  end,  as 
the  enemy  said  when  he  was  wriggling  on  a 
lance-point.  Immediately  after  the  little  silence 
that  follows  on  the  ceremony  there  en- 
tered the  native  officer  who  had  played  for  the 
Lushkar  team.  He  could  not  of  course  eat 
with  the  alien,  but  he  came  in  at  dessert,  all 
six  feet  of  him,  with  the  blue-and-silver  tur- 
ban atop  and  the  big  black  top-boots  below. 
The  mess  rose  joyously  as  he  thrust  forward 
the  hilt  of  his  sabre,  in  token  of  realty,  for  the 
colonel  of  the  White  Hussars  to  touch,  and 
dropped  into  a  vacant  chair  amid  shouts  of 
Rung  ho!  "Hira  Singh!"  (which  being 
translated  means  "Go  in  and  win!").  "Did 
I  whack  you  over  the  knee,  old  man  ?"  "Res- 
saidar  Sahib,  what  the  devil  made  you  play 
that  kicking  pig  of  a  pony  in  the  last  ten  min- 
utes?" "Shabash,  Ressaidar  Sahib!"  Then 
the  voice  of  the  colonel :  "The  health  of  Res- 
saidar Hira  Singh!" 

After  the  shouting  had  died  away  Hira 
Singh  rose  to  reply,  for  he  was  the  cadet  of  a 
royal  house,  the  son  of  a  king's  son,  and  knew 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  181 

what  was  due  on  these  occasions.  Thus  he 
spoke  in  the  vernacular : 

"Colonel  Sahib  and  officers  of  this  regi- 
ment, much  honor  have  you  done  me.  This 
will  I  remember.  We  came  down  from  afar 
to  play  you;  but  we  were  beaten."  ("No 
fault  of  yours,  Ressaidar  Sahib.  Played  on 
your  own  ground,  y'  know.  Your  ponies  were 
cramped  from  the  railway.  Don't  apolo- 
gize.") "Therefore  perhaps  we  will  come 
again  if  it  be  so  ordained."  ("Hear!  Hear, 
hear,  indeed!  Bravo!  H'sh!")  "Then  we 
will  play  you  afresh"  ("Happy  to  meet 
you"),  "till  there  are  left  no  feet  upon  our 
ponies.  Thus  far  for  sport."  He  dropped 
one  hand  on  his  sword-hilt,  and  his  eye  wan- 
dered to  Dirkovitch  lolling  back  in  his  chair. 
"But  if  by  the  will  of  God  there  arises  any 
other  game  which  is  not  the  polo  game,  then 
be  assured,  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers,  that 
we  shall  play  it  out  side  by  side,  though  they" 
— again  his  eye  sought  Dirkovitch — "though 
they,  I  say,  have  fifty  ponies  to  our  one 
horse."  And  with  a  deep-mouthed  Rung  ho! 
that  rang  like  a  musket-butt  on  flag-stones,  he 
sat  down  amid  shoutings. 

Dirkovitch,  who  had  devoted  himself  stead- 
ily to  the  brandy — the  terrible  brandy  afore- 


182  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

mentioned — did  not  understand,  nor  did  the 
expurgated  translations  offered  to  him  at  all 
convey  the  point.  Decidedly  the  native  offi- 
cer's was  the  speech  of  the  evening,  and  the 
clamor  might  have  continued  to  the  dawn  had 
it  not  been  broken  by  the  noise  of  a  shot  with- 
out that  sent  every  man  feeling  at  his  defense- 
less left  side.  It  is  notable  that  Dirkovitch 
"reached  back,"  after  the  American  fashion 
— a  gesture  that  set  the  captain  of  the  Lush- 
kar  team  wondering  how  Cossack  officers 
were  armed  at  mess.  Then  there  was  a  scuffle 
and  a  yell  of  pain. 

"Carbine-stealing  again!"  said  the  adju- 
tant, calmly  sinking  back  in  his  chair.  "This 
comes  of  reducing  the  guards.  I  hope  the 
sentries  have  killed  him." 

The  feet  of  armed  men  pounded  on  the  ve- 
randa flags,  and  it  sounded  as  though  some- 
thing was  being  dragged. 

"Why  don't  they  put  him  in  the  cells  till  the 
morning?"  said  the  colonel,  testily.  "See  if 
they've  damaged  him,  sergeant." 

The  mess-sergeant  fled  out  into  the  dark- 
ness, and  returned  with  two  troopers  and  a 
corporal,  all  very  much  perplexed. 

"Caught  a  man  stealin'  carbines,  sir,"  said 
the    corporal.      "Leastways    'e    was    crawlin' 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  183 

toward  the  barricks,  sir,  past  the  main-road 
sentries ;  an'  the  sentry  'e  says,  sir" — 

The  limp  heap  of  rags  upheld  by  the  three 
men  groaned.  Never  was  seen  so  destitute 
and  demoralized  an  Afghan.  He  was  tur- 
banless,  shoeless,  caked  with  dirt,  and  all  but 
dead  with  rough  handling.  Hira  Singh 
started  slightly  at  the  sound  of  the  man's  pain. 
Dirkovitch  took  another  liquor  glass  of 
brandy. 

"What  does  the  sentry  say?"  said  the 
colonel. 

"Sez  he  speaks  English,  sir,"  said  the  cor- 
poral. 

"So  you  brought  him  into  mess  instead  of 
handing  him  over  to  the  sergeant!  If  he 
spoke  all  the  tongues  of  the  Pentecost,  you've 
no  business" — 

Again  the  bundle  groaned  and  muttered. 
Little  Mildred  had  risen  from  his  place  to  in- 
spect. He  jumped  back  as  though  he  had 
been  shot. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  sir,  to  send 
the  men  away,"  said  he  to  the  colonel,  for  he 
was  a  much-privileged  subaltern.  He  put  his 
arms  round  the  rag-bound  horror  as  he  spoke, 
and  dropped  him  into  a  chair.  It  may  not 
have  been  explained  that  the  littleness  of  Mil- 


1 84  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

dred  lay  in  his  being  six  feet  four,  and  big 
in  proportion.  The  corporal,  seeing  that  an 
officer  was  disposed  to  look  after  the  capture, 
and  that  the  colonel's  eye  was  beginning  to 
blaze,  promptly  removed  himself  and  his  men. 
The  mess  was  left  alone  with  the  carbine 
thief,  who  laid  his  head  on  the  table  and  wept 
bitterly,  hopelessly,  and  inconsolably,  as  little 
children  weep. 

Hira  Singh  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  long- 
drawn  vernacular  oath.  "Colonel  Sahib," 
said  he,  "that  man  is  no  Afghan,  for  they 
weep  'Ai!  Ail'  Nor  is  he  of  Hindoostan,  for 
they  weep  fOh!  Ho!'  He  weeps  after  the 
fashion  of  the  white  men,  who  say  'Ow! 
Owl' " 

"Now,  where  the  dickens  did  you  get  that 
knowledge,  Hira  Singh?"  said  the  captain  of 
the  Lushkar  team. 

"Hear  him!"  said  Hira  Singh,  simply, 
pointing  at  the  crumpled  figure,  that  wept  as 
though  it  would  never  cease. 

"He  said,  'My  God !'  "  said  Little  Mildred. 
"I  heard  him  say  it." 

The  colonel  and  the  mess-room  looked  at 
the  man  in  silence.  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to 
hear  a  man  cry.  A  woman  can  sob  from  the 
top  of  her  palate,  or  her  lips,  or  anywhere  else, 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  185 

but  a  man  cries  from  his  diaphragm,  and  it 
rends  him  to  pieces.  Also,  the  exhibition 
causes  the  throat  of  the  on-looker  to  close  at 
the  top. 

"Poor  devil  1"  said  the  colonel,  coughing 
tremendously.  "We  ought  to  send  him  to 
hospital.     He'fr  been  man-handled." 

Now  the  adjutant  loved  his  rifles.  They 
were  to  him  as  his  grandchildren — the  men 
standing  in  the  first  place.  He  grunted  re- 
belliously:  "I  can  understand  an  Afghan 
stealing,  because  he's  made  that  way.  But 
I  can't  understand  his  crying.  That  makes 
it  worse." 

The  brandy  must  have  affected  Dirkovitch, 
for  he  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the 
ceiling.  There  was  nothing  special  in  the  ceil- 
ing beyond  a  shadow  as  of  a  huge  black  cof- 
fin. Owing  to  some  peculiarity  in  the  con- 
struction of  the  mess-room,  this  shadow  was 
always  thrown  when  the  candles  were  lighted. 
It  never  disturbed  the  digestion  of  the  White 
Hussars.  They  were,  in  fact,  rather  proud  of 
it. 

"Is  he  going  to  cry  all  night,"  said  the  col- 
onel, "or  are  we  supposed  to  sit  up  with  Little 
Mildred's  guest  until  he  feels  better?" 

The  man  in  the  chair  threw  up  his  head  and 


186  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

stared  at  the  mess.  Outside,  the  wheels  of  the 
first  of  those  bidden  to  the  festivities  crunched 
the  roadway. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  the  man  in  the  chair, 
and  every  soul  in  the  mess  rose  to  his  feet. 
Then  the  Lushkar  captain  did  a  deed  for 
which  he  ought  to  have  been  given  the  Vic- 
toria Cross — distinguished  gallantry  in  a  fight 
against  overwhelming  curiosity.  He  picked 
up  his  team  with  his  eyes  as  the  hostess  picks 
up  the  ladies  at  the  opportune  moment,  and 
pausing  only  by  the  colonel's  chair  to  say: 
"This  isn't  our  affair,  you  know,  sir,"  led  the 
team  into  the  veranda  and  the  gardens.  Hira 
Singh  was  the  last,  and  he  looked  at  Dirko- 
vitch  as  he  moved.  But  Dirkovitch  had  de- 
parted into  a  brandy  paradise  of  his  own.  His 
lips  moved  without  sound,  and  he  was  study- 
ing the  coffin  on  uie  ceiling. 

"White — white  all  over,"  said  Basset-Hol- 
mer,  the  adjutant.  "What  a  pernicious  rene- 
gade he  must  be!  I  wonder  where  he  came 
from?" 

The  colonel  shook  the  man  gently  by  the 
arm,  and  "Who  are  you?"  said  he. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  man  stared 
round  the  mess-room  and  smiled  in  the 
colonel's  face.     Little  Mildred,  who  was  al- 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  187 

ways  more  of  a  woman  than  a  man  till  "Boot 
and  saddle"  was  sounded  repeated  the  ques- 
tion in  a  voice  that  would  have  drawn  confi- 
dences from  a  geyser.  The  man  only  smiled. 
Dirkovitch,  at  the  far  end  of  the  table,  slid 
gently  from  his  chair  to  the  floor.  No  son  of 
Adam,  in  this  present  imperfect  world,  can 
mix  the  Hussars'  champagne  with  the  Hus- 
sars' brandy  by  five  and  eight  glasses  of  each 
without  remembering  the  pit  whence  he  has 
been  digged  and  descended  thither.  The  band 
began  to  play  the  tune  with  which  the  White 
Hussars,  from  the  date  of  their  formation, 
preface  all  their  functions.  They  would 
sooner  be  disbanded  than  abandon  that  tune. 
It  is  a  part  of  their  system.  The  man 
straightened  himself  in  his  chair  and 
drummed  on  the  table  with  his  fingers. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  entertain  luna- 
tics," said  the  colonel ;  "call  a  guard  and  send 
him  off  to  the  cells.  We'll  look  into  the  busi- 
ness in  the  morning.  Give  him  a  glass  of 
wine  first,  though." 

Little  Mildred  filled  a  sherry  glass  with  the 
brandy  and  thrust  it  over  to  the  man.  He 
drank,  and  the  tune  rose  louder,  and  he 
straightened  himself  yet  more.  Then  he  put 
out  his  long-taloned  hands  to  a  piece  of  plate 


1 88  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

opposite  and  fingered  it  lovingly.  There  was 
a  mystery  connected  with  that  piece  of  plate 
in  the  shape  of  a  spring,  which  converted 
what  was  a  seven-branched  candlestick,  three 
springs  each  side  and  one  in  the  middle,  into 
a  sort  of  wheel-spoke  candelabrum.  He 
found  the  spring,  pressed  it,  and  laughed 
weakly.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  inspected 
a  picture  on  the  wall,  then  moved  on  to  an- 
other picture,  the  mess  watching  him  without 
a  word.  When  he  came  to  the  mantelpiece  he 
shook  his  head  and  seemed  distressed.  A 
piece  of  plate  representing  a  mounted  hussar 
in  full  uniform  caught  his  eye.  He  pointed  to 
it,  and  then  to  the  mantelpiece,  with  inquiry 
in  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it — oh,  what  is  it?"  said  Little 
Mildred.  Then,  as  a  mother  might  speak  to 
a  child,  "That  is  a  horse — yes,  a  horse." 

Very  slowly  came  the  answer,  in  a  thick, 
passionless  guttural:  "Yes,  I — have  seen. 
But — where  is  the  horse?" 

He  could  have  heard  the  hearts  of  the  mess 
beating  as  the  men  drew  back  to  give  the 
stranger  full  room  in  his  wanderings.  There 
was  no  question  of  calling  the  guard. 

Again  he  spoke,  very  slowly:  "Where  is 
our  horse?" 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  189 

There  is  no  saying  what  happened  after 
that.  There  is  but  one  horse  in  the  White 
Hussars,  and  his  portarit  hangs  outside  the 
door  of  the  mess-room.  He  is  the  piebald 
drum-horse,  the  king  of  the  regimental  band, 
that  served  the  regiment  for  seven-and-thirty 
years,  and  in  the  end  was  shot  for  old  age. 
Half  the  mess  tore  the  thing  down  from  its 
place  and  thrust  it  into  the  man's  hands.  He 
placed  it  above  the  mantelpiece;  it  clatered  on 
the  ledge,  as  his  poor  hands  dropped  it,  and 
he  staggered  toward  the  bottom  of  the  table, 
falling  into  Mildred's  chair.  The  band  be- 
gan to  play  the  "River  of  Years"  waltz,  and 
the  laughter  from  the  gardens  came  into  the 
tobacco-scented  mess-room.  But  nobody, 
even  the  youngest,  was  thinking  of  waltzes. 
They  all  spoke  to  one  another  something  after 
this  fashion:  "The  drum-horse  hasn't  hung 
over  the  mantelpiece  since  '67."  "How  does 
he  know?"  "Mildred,  go  and  speak  to  him 
again."  "Colonel,  what  are  you  going  to 
do?"  "Oh,  dry  up,  and  give  the  poor  devil  a 
chance  to  pull  himself  together!"  "It  isn't 
possible,  anyhow.    The  man's  a  lunatic." 

Little  Mildred  s'^od  at  the  colonel's  side 
talking  into  his  ear.  "Will  you  be  good 
enough    to   take   your    seats,    please,    gentle- 


I90  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

men?"  he  said,  and  the  mess  dropped  into  the 
chairs. 

Only  Dirkovitch's  seat,  next  to  Little  Mil- 
dred's, was  blank,  and  Little  Mildred  himself 
had  found  Hira  Singh's  place.  The  wide- 
eyed  mess-sergeant  filled  the  glasses  in  dead 
silence.  Once  more  the  colonel  rose,  but  his 
hand  shook,  and  the  port  spilled  on  the  table 
as  he  looked  straight  at  the  man  in  Little  Mil- 
dred's chair  and  said,  hoarsely:  "Mr.  Vice, 
the  Queen."  There  was  a  little  pause,  but  the 
man  sprung  to  his  feet  and  answered,  without 
hesitation:  "The  Queen,  God  bless  her!"  and 
as  he  emotied  the  thin  glass  he  snapped  the 
shank  between  his  fingers. 

Long  and  long  ago,  when  the  Empress  of 
India  was  a  young  woman,  and  there  were 
no  unclean  ideals  in  the  land,  it  was  the  cus- 
tom in  a  few  messes  to  drink  the  queen's  toast 
in  broken  glass,  to  the  huge  delight  of  the 
mess  contractors.  The  custom  is  now  dead, 
because  there  is  nothing  to  break  anything 
for,  except  now  and  again  the  word  of  a  gov- 
ernment, and  that  has  been  broken  already. 

"That  settles  it,"  said  the  colonel,  with  a 
gasp.  "He's  not  a  sergeant.  What  in  the 
world  is  he?" 

The  entire  mess  echoed  the  word,  and  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  191 

volley  of  questions  would  have  scared  any 
man.  Small  wonder  that  the  ragged,  filthy 
invader  could  only  smile  and  shake  his  head. 

From  under  the  table,  calm  and  smiling  ur- 
banely, rose  Dirkovitch,  who  had  been  roused 
from  healthful  slumber  by  feet  upon  his  body. 
By  the  side  of  the  man  he  rose,  and  the  man 
shrieked  and  groveled  at  his  feet.  It  was  a 
horrible  sight,  coming  so  swiftly  upon  the 
pride  and  glory  of  the  toast  that  had  brought 
the  strayed  wits  together. 

Dirkovitch  made  no  offer  to  raise  him,  but 
Little  Mildred  heaved  him  up  in  an  instant. 
It  is  not  good  that  a  gentleman  who  can  an- 
swer to  the  queen's  toast  should  lie  at  the  feet 
of  a  subaltern  of  Cossacks. 

The  hasty  action  tore  the  wretch's  upper 
clothing  nearly  to  the  waist,  and  his  body  was 
seamed  with  dry  black  scars.  There  is  only 
one  weapon  in  the  world  that  cuts  in  parallel 
lines,  and  it  is  neither  the  cane  nor  the  cat. 
Dirkovitch  saw  the  marks,  and  the  pupils  of 
his  eyes  dilated — also,  his  face  changed.  He 
said  something  that  sounded  like  "Shto  ve 
takete";  and  the  man,  fawning,  answered, 
"Chetyre." 

"What's  that?"  said  everybody  together. 

"His  number.     That  is  number  four,  you 


192  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

know."     Dirkovitch  spoke  very  thickly. 

"What  has  a  queen's  officer  to  do  with  a 
qualified  number?"  said  the  colonel,  and  there 
rose  an  unpleasant  growl  round  the  table. 

"How  can  I  tell  ?"  said  the  affable  Oriental, 
with  a  sweet  smile.  "He  is  a — how  you  have 
it? — escape — runaway,  from  over  there." 

He  nodded  toward  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 

"Speak  to  him,  if  he'll  answer  you,  and 
speak  to  him  gently,"  said  Little  Mildred,  set- 
tling the  man  in  the  chair.  It  seemed  most 
improper  to  all  present  that  Dirkovitch  should 
sip  brandy  as  he  talked  in  purring,  spitting 
Russian  to  the  creature  who  answered  so 
feebly  and  with  such  evident  dread.  But 
since  Dirkovitch  appeared  to  understand,  no 
man  said  a  word.  They  breathed  heavily, 
leaning  forward  in  the  long  gaps  of  the  con- 
versation. The  next  time  that  they  have 
no  engagements  on  hand  the  White  Hussars 
intend  to  go  to  St.  Petersburg  and  learn  Rus- 
sian. 

"He  does  not  know  how  many  years  ago," 
said  Dirkovitch,  facing  the  mess,  "but  he 
says  it  was  very  long  ago,  in  a  war.  I  think 
that  there  was  an  accident.  He  says  he  was 
of  this  glorious  and  distinguished  regiment 
in  the  war." 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  193 

'The  rolls!  The  rolls!  Holmer,  get  the 
rells!"  said  Little  Mildred,  and  the  adjutant 
dashed  off  bareheaded  to  the  orderly-room 
where  the  rolls  of  the  regiment  were  kept. 
He  returned  just  in  time  to  hear  Dirl  ovitch 
conclude :  "Therefore  I  am  most  sorry  to  say 
there  was  an  accident,  which  would  have  been 
reparable  if  he  had  apologized  to  that  our 
colonel,  which  he  had  insulted." 

Another  growl,  which  the  colonel  tried  to 
beat  down.  The  mess  was  in  no  mood  to 
weigh  insults  to  Russian  colonels  just  then. 

"He  does  not  remember,  but  I  think  that 
there  was  an  accident,  and  so  he  was  not  ex- 
changed among  the  prisoners,  but  he  was  sent 
to  another  place — how  do  you  say  ? — the  coun- 
try. So,  he  says,  he  came  here.  He  does  not 
know  how  he  came.  Eh?  He  was  at  Chep- 
any" — the  man  caught  the  word,  nodded,  and 
shivered — "at  Zhigansk  and  Irkutsk.  I  can- 
not understand  how  he  escaped.  He  says,  too, 
that  he  was  in  the  forests  for  many  years, 
but  how  many  years  he  has  forgotten — that 
with  many  things.  It  was  an  accident;  done 
because  he  did  not  apologize  to  that  our  col- 
onel.   Ah!" 

Instead  of  echoing  Dirkovitch's  sigh  of  re- 
gret, it  is  sad  to  record  that  the  White  Hus- 


194  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

sars  livelily  exhibited  unchristian  delight  and 
other  emotions,  hardly  restrained  by  their 
sense  of  hospitality.  Holmer  flung  the  frayed 
and  yellow  regimental  rolls  on  the  table,  and 
the  men  flung  themselves  atop  of  these. 

"Steady!  Fifty-six  —  fifty-five  —  fifty- 
four,"  said  Holmer.  "Here  we  are.  'Lieu- 
tenant Austin  Limmason — missing,'  That 
was  before  Sebastopol.  What  an  infernal 
shame!  Insulted  one  of  their  colonels,  and 
was  quietly  shipped  ofT.  Thirty  years  of  his 
life  wiped  out." 

"But  he  never  apologized.  Said  he'd  see 
him — first,"chorused  the  mess. 

"Poor  devil!  I  suppose  he  never  had  the 
chance  afterward.  How  did  he  come  here?" 
said  the  colonel. 

The  dingy  heap  in  the  chair  could  give  no 
answer. 

"Do  you  know  who  you  are  ?" 

It  laughed  weakly. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  are  Limmason — 
Lieutenant  Limmason,  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars?" 

Swift  as  a  shot  came  the  answer,  in  a 
slightly  surprised  tone:  "Yes,  I'm  Limmason, 
of  course."  The  light  died  out  in  his  eyes,  and 
he  collapsed   afresh,   watching  every   motion 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  195 

of  Dirkovitch  with  terror.  A  flight  from  Si- 
beria may  fix  a  few  elementary  facts  in  the 
mind,  but  it  does  not  lead  to  continuity  of 
thought.  The  man  could  not  explain  how, 
like  a  homing  pigeon,  he  had  found  his  way 
to  his  own  old  mess  again.  Of  what  he  had 
suffered  or  seen  he  knew  nothing.  He  cringed 
before  Dirkovitch  as  instinctively  as  he  had 
pressed  the  spring  of  the  candlestick,  sought 
the  picture  of  the  drum-horse,  and  answered 
to  the  queen's  toast.  The  rest  was  a  blank 
that  the  dreaded  Russian  tongue  could  only 
in  part  remove.  His  head  bowed  on  his 
breast,  and  he  giggled  and  cowered  alter- 
nately. 

The  devil  that  lived  in  the  brandy  prompted 
Dirkovitch  at  this  extremely  inopportune  mo- 
ment to  make  a  speech.  He  rose,  swaying 
slightly,  gripped  the  table  edge,  while  his  eyes 
glowed  like  opals,  and  began: 

"Fellow-soldiers  glorious — true  friends  and 
hospitables.  It  was  an  accident,  and  deplora- 
ble— most  deplorable."  Here  he  smiled 
sweetly  all  round  the  mess.  "But  you  will 
think  of  this  little  —  little  thing.  So  little, 
is  it  not?  The  czar!  Posh!  I  slap  my  fin- 
gers— I  snap  my  fingers  at  him.  Do  I  be- 
lieve in  him?  No!  But  the  Slav  who  has 
done  nothing,  him  I  believe.      Seventy — how 


196  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 

much? — millions  that  have  done  nothing — 
not  one  thing.  Napoleon  was  an  episode." 
He  banged  a  hand  on  the  table.  "Hear  you, 
old  peoples,  we  have  done  nothing  in  the 
world — out  here.  All  our  work  is  to  do :  and 
it  shall  be  done,  old  peoples.  Get  away!" 
He  waved  his  hand  imperiously,  and  pointed 
to  the  man.  "You  see  him.  He  is  not  good 
to  see.  He  was  just  one  little — oh,  so  little — 
accident,  that  no  one  remembered.  Now  he 
is  That.  So  will  you  be,  brother-soldiers  so 
brave — so  will  you  be.  But  you  will  never 
come  back.  You  will  all  go  where  he  is  gone, 
or" — he  pointed  to  the  great  coffin  shadow  on 
the  ceiling,  and  muttered,  "Seventy  millions — 
get  away,  you  old  people,"  fell  asleep. 

"Sweet,  and  to  the  point,"  said  Little  Mil- 
dred. "What's  the  use  of  getting  wroth? 
Let's  make  the  poor  devil  comfortable." 

But  that  was  a  matter  suddenly  and  swiftly 
taken  from  the  loving  hands  of  the  White 
Hussars.  The  lieutenant  had  returned  only 
to  go  away  again  three  days  later,  when  the 
wail  of  the  "Dead  March"  and  the  tramp  of 
the  squadrons  told  the  wondering  station,  that 
saw  no  gap  in  the  table,  an  officer  of  the  regi- 
ment had  resigned  his  new  found  commis- 
sion. 

And  Dirkovitch  —  bland,  supple,  and  al- 
ways genial — went  away  too  by  a  night  train. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  197; 

Little  Mildred  and  another  saw  him  off,  for 
he  was  the  guest  of  the  mess,  and  even  had  he 
smitten  the  colonel  with  the  open  hand,  the 
law  of  the  mess  allowed  no  relaxation  of  hos- 
pitality. 

"Good-bye,  Dirkovitch,  and  a  pleasant  jour- 
ney," said  little  Mildred. 

"Au  revoir,  my  true  friends,"  said  the  Rus- 
sian. 

"Indeed!  But  we  thought  you  were  going 
home?" 

"Yes;  but  I  will  come  again.  My  friends, 
is  that  road  shut?"  He  pointed  to  where  the 
north  star  burned  over  the  Khyber  Pass. 

"By  Jove!  I  forgot.  Of  course.  Happy 
to  meet  you,  old  man,  any  time  you  like.  Got 
everything  you  want — cheroots,  ice,  bed- 
ding? That's  all  right.  Well,  au  revoir,  Dir- 
kovitch." 

"Urn,"  said  the  other  man,  as  the  tail- 
lights  of  the  train  grew  small.  "Of — all — 
the — unmitigated" — 

Little  Mildred  answered  nothing,  but 
watched  the  north  star,  and  hummed  a  selec- 
tion from  a  recent  burlesque  that  had  much 
delighted  the  White  Hussars.     It  ran: 

"Pm  sorry  for  Mr.  Bluebeard, 

I'm  sorry  to  cause  him  pain; 
But  a  terrible  spree  there's  sure  to  be 
When  he  comes  back  again." 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 


A  CONFERENCE  OF  THE  POWERS 

"Life  liveth  best  in  life,  and  doth  not  roam 
To  other  realms  if  all  be  well  at  home. 
'Solid  as  ocean  foam,'  quoth  ocean  foam." 

THE  room  was  blue  with  the  smoke  of 
three  pipes  and  a  cigar.  The  leave  sea- 
son had  opened  in  India,  and  the  first-fruits 
on  the  English  side  of  the  water  were  "Tick" 
Boileau,  of  the  Forty-fifth  Bengal  Cavalry, 
who  called  on  me  after  three  years'  absence 
to  discuss  old  things  which  had  happened. 
Fate,  who  always  does  her  work  handsomely, 
sent  up  the  same  staircase  within  the  same  hour 
the  Infant,  fresh  from  Upper  Burmah,  and  he 
and  Boileau,  looking  out  of  my  window,  saw 
walking  in  the  street  one  Nevin,  late  in  a 
Ghoorka  regiment  and  the  Black  Mountain 
expedition.  They  yelled  to  him  to  come  up, 
and  the  whole  street  was  aware  that  they  de- 
sired him  to  come  up;  and  he  came  up,  and 
there  followed  pandemonium,  because  we  had 
foregathered  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
three  of  us  were  on  a  holiday,  and  none  of 
us  was  twenty-five,  and  all  the  delights  of  all 
London  lay  waiting  our  pleasure. 
201 


202  A  CONFERENCE 

Boileau  took  the  only  other  chair;  and  the 
Infant,  by  right  of  his  bulk,  the  sofa;  and 
Nevin,  being  a  little  man,  sat  cross-legged  on 
the  top  of  the  revolving  book-case;  and  we 
all  said:  "Who'd  ha'  thought  it?"  and  "What 
are  you  doing  here?"  till  speculation  was  ex- 
hausted, and  the  talk  went  over  to  inevitable 
"shop."  Boileau  was  full  of  a  great  scheme 
for  securing  military  attacheship  at  St.  Peters- 
burg; Nevin  had  hopes  of  the  Staff  College; 
and  the  Infant  had  been  moving  heaven  and 
earth  and  the  Horse  Guards  for  a  commission 
in  the  Egyptian  army. 

"What's  the  use  o'  that?"  said  Nevin,  twirl- 
ing round  on  the  book-case. 

"Oh,  heaps!  Course  if  you  get  stuck  with  a 
Fellaheen  regiment,  you're  sold;  but  if  you 
are  appointed  to  a  Soudanese  lot,  you're  in 
clover.  They  are  first-class  fighting  men,  and 
just  think  of  the  eligible  central  position  of 
Egypt  in  the  next  row!" 

This  was  putting  the  match  to  the  maga- 
zine. We  all  began  to  explain  the  Central- 
Asian  question  off-hand,  flinging  army  corps 
from  the  Helmund  to  Cashmir  with  more  than 
Russian  recklessness.  Each  of  the  boys  made 
for  himself  a  war  to  his  own  liking,  and  when 
he  had  settled  all  the  details  of  Armageddon, 


OF  THE  POWERS  203 

killed  all  our  senior  officers,  handled  a  divi- 
sion apiece,  and  nearly  torn  the  atlas  in  two 
in  attempts  to  explain  our  theories,  Boileau 
needs    must    lift    up     his     voice     above    the 

clamor  and  cry:  "Anyhow,  it'll  be  the of 

a  row!"  in  tones  that  carried  conviction  far 
down  the  staircase. 

Entered  unperceived  in  the  smoke  William 
the  Silent.  "Gen'elmen  to  see  you,  sir,"  said 
he,  and  disappeared,  leaving  in  his  stead  none 
other  than  Mr.  Eustace  Cleever.  William 
would  have  introduced  the  dragon  of  Want- 
ley  with  equal  disregard  of  present  company. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon!  I  didn't  know 
that  there  was  anybody — with  you.     I" — 

But  it  was  not  seemly  to  allow  Mr.  Cleever 
to  depart,  for  he  was  a  great  man.  The  boys 
remained  where  they  were,  because  any  move- 
ment would  block  the  little  room.  Only  when 
they  saw  his  grey  hairs  they  stood  up  on  their 
feet,  and  when  the  Infant  caught  the  name, 
he  said :  "Are  you — did  you  write  that  book 
called  'As  it  was  in  the  Beginning'?" 

Mr.  Cleever  admitted  that  he  had  written 
the  book. 

"Then — then  I  don't  know  how  to  thank 
you,  sir,"  said  the  Infant,  flushing  pink.  "I  was 
brought  up  in  the  country  you  wrote  about. 


204  A  CONFERENCE 

All  my  people  live  there,  and  I  read  the  book  in 
camp  out  in  Burmah  on  the  Hlinedatalone, 
and  I  knew  every  stick  and  stone,  and  the 
dialect,  too;  and,  by  Jove!  it  was  just  like 
being  at  home  and  hearing  the  country  people 
talk.  Nevin,  you  know/ As  it  was  in  the  Be- 
ginning'?    So  does  Ti — Boileau." 

Mr.  Cleever  has  tasted  as  much  praise,  pub- 
lic and  private,  as  one  man  may  safely  swal- 
low, but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  outspoken 
admiration  in  the  Infant's  eyes  and  the  little 
stir  in  the  little  company  came  home  to  him 
very   nearly   indeed. 

"Won't  you  take  the  sofa  ?"  said  the  Infant. 
"Ill  sit  on  Boileau's  chair,  and" — Here  he 
looked  at  me  to  spur  me  to  my  duties  as  a 
host,  but  I  was  watching  the  novelist's  face. 
Cleever  had  not  the  least  intention  of  going 
away,  but  settled  himself  on  the  sofa.  Fol- 
lowing the  first  great  law  of  the  army,  which 
says :  "All  property  is  common  except  money, 
and  you've  only  got  to  ask  the  next  man  for 
that,"  the  Infant  offered  tobacco  and  drink. 
It  was  the  least  he  could  do,  but  not  four  col- 
umns of  the  finest  review  in  the  world  held 
half  as  much  appreciation  and  reverence  as 
the  Infant's  simple:  "Say  when,  sir,"  above 
the  long  glass. 


OF  THE  POWERS  205 

Geever  said  "when,"  and  more  thereto,  for 
he  was  a  golden  talker,  and  he  sat  in  the  midst 
of  hero-worship  devoid  of  all  taint  of  self- 
interest.  The  boys  asked  him  of  the  birth  of 
his  book,  and  whether  it  was  hard  to  write, 
and  how  his  notions  came  to  him,  and  he  an- 
swered with  the  same  absolute  simplicity  as 
he  was  questioned.  His  big  eyes  twinkled,  he 
dug  his  long,  thin  hands  into  his  grey  beard, 
and  tugged  it  as  he  grew  animated  and 
dropped  little  by  little  from  the  peculiar  pinch- 
ing of  the  broader  vowels — the  indefinable 
"euh"  that  runs  through  the  speech  of  the  pun- 
dit caste — and  the  elaborate  choice  of  words 
to  freely  mouthed  ows  and  ois,  and  for  him,  at 
least,  unfettered  colloquialisms.  He  could  not 
altogether  understand  the  boys  who  hung 
upon  his  words  so  reverently.  The  line  of  the 
chin-strap  that  still  showed  white  and  un- 
tanned  on  cheek-bone  and  jaw,  the  steadfast 
young  eyes  puckered  at  the  corners  of  the  lids 
with  much  staring  through  red-hot  sunshine, 
the  deep,  troubled  breathing  and  the  curious 
crisp,  curt  speech  seemed  to  puzzle  him 
equally.  'He  could  create  men  and  women, 
and  send  them  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth  to  help,  delight,  and  comfort;  he  knew 
every  mood  of  the  fields,  and  could  interpret 


206  A  CONFERENCE 

them  to  the  cities,  and  he  knew  the  hearts  of 
many  in  the  city  and  country,  but  he  had  hardly 
in  forty  years  come  into  contact  with  the  thing 
which  is  called  a  Subaltern  of  the  Line.  He 
told  the   boys   this. 

"Well,  how  should  you?"  said  the  Infant. 
"You — you're  quite  different,  y'  see,  sir." 

The  Infant  expressed  his  ideas  in  his  tone 
rather  than  his  words,  and  Cleever  understood 
the  compliments. 

"We're  only  subs,"  said  Nevin,  "and  we 
aren't  exactly  the  sort  of  men  you'd  meet 
much  in  your  life,  I  s'pose." 

"That's  true,"  said  Cleever.  "I  live  chiefly 
among  those  who  write  and  paint  and  sculp 
and  so  forth.  We  have  our  own  talk  and  our 
own  interests,  and  the  outer  world  doesn't 
trouble  us  much." 

"That  must  be  awfully  jolly,"  said  Boileau, 
at  a  venture.  "We  have  our  own  shop,  too, 
but  'tisn't  half  as  interesting  as  yours,  of 
course.  You  know  all  the  men  who've  ever 
done  anything,  and  we  only  knock  about  from 
place  to  place,  and  we  do  nothing." 

"The  army's  a  very  lazy  profession,  if  you 
choose  to  make  it  so,"  said  Nevin.  "When 
there's  nothing  going  on,  there  is  nothing  go- 
ing on,  and  you  lie  up." 


OF  THE  POWERS  207 

"Or  try  to  get  a  billet  somewhere  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  the  next  show,"  said  the  Infant,  with 
a  chuckle. 

"To  me,"  said  Cleever  softly,  "the  whole 
idea  of  warfare  seems  so  foreign  and  unnat- 
ural— so  essentially  vulgar,  if  I  may  say  so — 
that  I  can  hardly  appreciate  your  sensations. 
Of  course,  though,  any  change  from  idling  in 
garrison  towns  must  be  a  godsend  to  you." 

Like  not  a  few  home-staying  Englishmen, 
Cleever  believed  that  the  newspaper  phrase  he 
quoted  covered  the  whole  duty  of  the  army, 
whose  toil  enabled  him  to  enjoy  his  many- 
sided  life  in  peace.  The  remark  was  not  a 
happy  one,  for  Boileau  had  just  come  off  the 
Indian  frontier,  the  Infant  had  been  on  the 
war  path  for  nearly  eighteen  months,  and  the 
little  red  man,  Nevin,  two  months  before  had 
been  sleeping  under  the  stars  at  the  peril  of  his 
life.  But  none  of  them  tried  to  explain  till  I 
ventured  to  point  out  that  they  had  all  seen 
service,  and  were  not  used  to  idling.  Cleever 
took  in  the  idea  slowly. 

"Seen  service?"  said  he.  Then,  as  a  child 
might  ask,  "Tell  me — tell  me  everything  about 
everything." 

"How  do  you  mean,  sir?"  said  the  Infant, 
delighted  at  being  directly  appealed  to  by  the 
great  man. 


208  A  CONFERENCE 

"Good  heavens!  how  am  I  to  make  you 
understand  if  you  can't  see?  In  the  first  place, 
what  is  your  age?" 

"Twenty-three  next  July,"  said  the  Infant, 
promptly. 

Cleever  questioned  the  others  with  his  eyes. 

"I'm  twenty-four,"  said  Nevin. 

"I'm  twenty-two,"  said  Boileau. 

"And  you've  all  seen  service  ?" 

"We've  all  knocked  about  a  little  bit,  sir, 
but  the  Infant's  the  war-worn  veteran.  He's 
had  two  years'  work  in  Upper  Burmah,"  said 
Nevin. 

"When  you  say  work,  what  do  you  mean, 
you  extraordinary  creatures?" 

"Explain  it,  Infant,"  said  Nevin. 

"Oh,  keeping  things  in  order  generally,  and 
running  about  after  little  dakus< — that's  Da- 
coits — and  so  on.  There's  nothing  to  ex- 
plain." 

"Make  that  young  leviathan  speak,"  said 
Cleever,  impatiently. 

"How  can  he  speak?"  said  I.  "He's  done 
the  work.  The  two  don't  go  together.  But, 
Infant,  you  are  requested  to  bukh." 

"What  about?    I'll  try." 

"Bukh  about  a  daur.  You've  been  on  heaps 
of  'em,"  said  Nevin. 


OF  THE  POWERS  20g 

"What  in  the  world  does  that  mean?  Has 
the  army  a  language  of  its  own?" 

The  Infant  turned  very  red.  He  was  afraid 
he  was  being  laughed  at,  and  he  detested  talk- 
ing before  outsiders ;  but  it  was  the  author  of 
"As  it  was  in  the  Beginning"  who  waited. 

"It's  all  so  new  to  me,"  pleaded  Cleever. 
"And — you  said  you  liked  my  book." 

This  was  a  direct  appeal  that  the  Infant 
could  understand.  He  began,  rather  Hur- 
riedly, with  "Pull  me  up,  sir,  if  I  say  anything 
you  don't  follow.  'Bout  six  months  before 
I  took  my  leave  out  of  Burmah  I  was  on  the 
Hlinedatalone  up  near  the  Shan  states  with 
sixty  Tommies — private  soldiers,  that  is — and 
another  subaltern,  a  year  senior  to  me.  The 
Burmese  business  was  a  subaltern  war,  and 
our  forces  were  split  up  into  little  detach- 
ments, all  running  about  the  country  and  try- 
ing to  keep  the  Dacoits  quiet.  The  Dacoits 
were  having  a  first-class  time,  y'  know — filling 
women  up  with  kerosene  and  setting  'em  alight, 
and  burning  villages,  and  crucifying  people." 

The  wonder  in  Eustace  Cleever's  eyes  deep- 
ened. He  disbelieved  wholly  in  a  book  which 
describes  crucifixion  at  length,  and  he  could 
not  quite  realize  that  the  custom  still  existed. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  crucifixion?"  said 
he. 


210  A  CONFERENCE 

"Of  course  not.  Shouldn't  have  allowed  it  if 
I  had.  But  I've  seen  the  corpses.  The  Da- 
coits  had  a  nice  trick  of  sending  a  crucified 
corpse  down  the  river  on  a  raft,  just  to  show 
they  were  keeping  their  tail  up  and  en- 
joying themselves.  Well,  that  was  the  kind  of 
people  I  had  to  deal  with." 

"Alone?"  said  Cleever.  Solitude  of  the  soul 
he  knew — none  better;  but  he  had  never  been 
ten  miles  away  from  his  fellow-men  in  his 
life. 

"I  had  my  men,  but  the  rest  of  it  was  pretty 
much  alone.  The  nearest  military  post  that 
could  give  me  orders  was  fifteen  miles  away, 
and  we  used  to  heliograph  to  them,  and  they 
used  to  give  us  orders  same  way.  Too  many 
orders." 

"Who  was  your  C.  O.  ?"  said  Boileau. 

"Bounderby.  Major.  Pukka  Bounderby. 
More  Bounder  than  pukka.  He  went  out  up 
Bhamo  way.  Shot  or  cut  down  last  year," 
said  the  Infant. 

"What  mean  these  interludes  in  a  strange 
tongue?"  said  Cleever  to  me. 

"Professional  information,  like  the  Missis- 
sippi pilots*  talk.  He  did  not  approve  of  his 
major,  who  has  since  died  a  violent  death," 
said  I.    "Go  on,  Infant." 


OF  THE  POWERS  211 

"Far  too  many  orders.  You  couldn't  take 
the  Tommies  out  for  a  two-days'  daur — that 
means  expedition,  sir — without  being  blown 
up  for  not  asking  leave.  And  the  whole  coun- 
try was  humming  with*  Dacoits.  I  used  to 
send  out  spies  and  act  on  their  information. 
As  soon  as  a  man  came  in  and  told  me  of  a 
gang  in  hiding,  I'd  take  thirty  men,  with  some 
grub,  and  go  out  and  look  for  them,  while  the 
other  subaltern  lay  doggo  in  camp.'" 

"Lay?  Pardon  me,  how  did  he  lie?"  said 
Cleever. 

"Lay  doggo.  Lay  quiet  with  the  thirty 
other  men.  When  I  came  back,  he'd  take  out 
his  half  of  the  command,  and  have  a  good 
time  of  his  own." 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Boileau. 

"Carter-Deecy,  of  the  Aurangabadis.  Good 
chap,  but  too  zubherdusty,  and  went  bokhar 
four  days  out  of  seven.  He's  gone  out  too. 
Don't  interrupt  a  man." 

Cleever  looked  helplessly  at  me. 

"The  other  subaltern,"  I  translate,  swiftly, 
"came  from  a  native  regiment  and  was  over- 
bearing in  his  demeanor.  He  suffered  much 
from  the  fever  of  the  country,  and  is  now 
dead.     Go  on,  Infant." 

"After  a  bit  we  got  into  trouble  for  using  the 


212  A  CONFERENCE 

men  on  frivolous  occasions,  and  so  I  used  to 
put  my  signaler  under  arrest  to  prevent  him 
reading  the  helio  orders.  Then  I'd  go  out, 
and  leave  a  message  to  be  sent  an  hour  after  I 
got  clear  of  the  camp;  something  like  this: 
'Received  important  information;  start  in  an 
hour,  unless  countermanded.'  If  I  was  or- 
dered back,  it  didn't  much  matter.  I  swore 
that  the  C.  O.'s  watch  was  wrong,  or  some- 
thing, when  I  came  back.  The  Tommies  en- 
joyed the  fun,  and — oh,  yes — there  was  one 
Tommy  who  was  the  bard  of  the  detachment. 
He  used  to  make  up  verses  on  everything  that 
happened." 

"What  sort  of  verses?"  said  Cleever 
"Lovely  verses;  and  the  Tommies  used  to 
sing  'em.     There  was  one  song  with  a  chorus, 
and  it  said  something  like  this."     The  Infant 
dropped  into  the  barrack-room  twang: 

"Theebau,  the  Burmah  king,  did  a  very  foolish  thing 
When  'e  mustered  'ostile  forces  in  ar-rai. 
'E  littul  thought  that  we,  from  far  across  the  sea, 
Would  send  cur  armies  up  to  Mandalai !' " 

"Oh,  gorgeous!"  said  Cleever.  "And  how 
magnificently  direct!  The  notion  of  a  regi- 
mental bard  is  new  to  me.    It's  epic." 

"He  was  awf'ly   popular   with   the   men," 


OF  THE  POWERS  213 

said  the  Infant.  "He  had  them  all  down  in 
rhyme  as  soon  as  ever  they  had  done  anything. 
He  was  a  great  bard.  He  was  always  on  time 
with  a  eulogy  when  he  picked  up  a  Boh — that's 
a  leader  of  Dacoits." 

"How  did  you  pick  him  up  ?"  said  Cleever. 

"Oh,  shot  him  if  he  wouldn't  surrender." 

"You !    Have  you  shot  a  man  ?" 

There  was  a  subdued  chuckle  from  all  three, 
and  it  dawned  on  the  questioner  that  one  ex- 
perience in  life  which  was  denied  to  himself — > 
and  he  weighed  the  souls  of  men  in  a  balance 
— had  been  shared  by  three  very  young  gen- 
tlemen of  engaging  appearance.  He  turned 
round  on  Nevin,  who  had  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  book-case  and  was  sitting  cross-legged 
as  before. 

"And  have  you,  too  ?" 

"And  have  you,  too  ?" 

"Think  so,"  said  Nevin,  sweetly.  "In  the 
Black  Mountain,  sir.  He  was  rolling  cliffs  on 
to  my  half-company  and  spoiling  our  forma- 
tion. I  took  a  rifle  from  a  man  and  brought 
him  down  at  a  second  shot." 

"Good  heavens!  And  how  did  you  feel  af- 
terward ?" 

"Thirsty.     I  wanted  a  smoke,  too." 

Cleever  looked   at   Boileau,   the  youngest. 


214  A  CONFERENCE 

Surely  his  hands  were  guiltless  of  blood.  Boi- 
leau  shook  his  head  and  laughed.  "Go  on, 
Infant,"  said  he. 

"And  you,  too?"  said  Cleever. 

"Fancy  so.  It  was  a  case  of  cut — cut  or  be 
cut — with  me,  so  I  cut  at  one.  I  couldn't  do 
any  more,  sir,"  said  Boileau. 

Cleever  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to 
ask  many  questions,  but  the  Infant  swept  on  in 
the  full  tide  of  his  tale. 

"Well,  we  were  called  insubordinate  young 
whelps  at  last,  and  strictly  forbidden  to  take 
the  Tommies  out  any  more  without  orders.  I 
wasn't  sorry,  because  Tommy  is  such  an  exact- 
ing sort  of  creature,  though  he  works  beauti- 
fully. He  wants  to  live  as  though  he  were  in 
barracks  all  the  time.  I  was  grubbing  on  fowls 
and  boiled  corn,  but  the  Tommies  wanted  their 
pound  of  fresh  meat,  and  their  half  ounce  of 
this,  and  their  two  ounces  of  t'other  thing,  and 
they  used  to  come  to  me  and  badger  me  for 
plug  tobacco  when  we  were  four  days  in  jun- 
gle! I  said:  'I  can  get  you  Burmah  tobacco, 
but  I  don't  keep  a  canteen  up  my  sleeve.'  They 
couldn't  see  it.  They  wanted  all  the  luxuries 
of  the  season,  confound  'em!" 

"You  were  alone  when  you  were  dealing 
with  these  men?"  said  Cleever,  watching  the 


OF  THE  POWERS  215 

Infant's  face  under  the  palm  of  his  hand.  He 
was  receiving  new  ideas,  and  they  seemed  to 
trouble  him. 

"Of  course.  Unless  you  count  the  mosqui- 
toes. They  were  nearly  as  big  as  the  men. 
After  I  had  to  lie  doggo  I  began  to  look  for 
something  to  do,  and  I  was  great  pals  with  a 
man  called  Hicksey,  in  the  Burmah  police. — 
the  best  man  that  ever  stepped  on  earth;  a 
first-class  man." 

Cleever  nodded  applause.  He  knew  some- 
thing of  enthusiasm. 

"Hicksey  and  I  were  as  thick  as  thieves.  He 
had  some  Burmah  mounted  police — nippy  lit- 
tle chaps,  armed  with  sword  and  Snider  car- 
bine. They  rode  punchy  Burmah  ponies,  with 
string  stirrups,  red  cloth  saddles,  and  red  bell- 
rope  headstalls.  Hicksey  used  to  lend  me  six 
or  eight  of  them  when  I  asked  him — nippy  lit- 
tle devils,  keen  as  mustard.  But  they  told 
their  wives  too  much,  and  all  my  plans  got 
known,  till  I  learned  to  give  false  marching 
orders  over  night,  and  take  the  men  to  quite  a 
different  village  in  the  morning.  Then  we 
used  to  catch  the  simple  dakus  before  break- 
fast, and  make  them  very  sick.  It's  a  ghastly 
country  on  the  Hlinedatalone ;  all  bamboo  jun- 
gle, with  paths  about  four  feet  wide  winding 


216  A  CONFERENCE 

through  it.  The  dakus  knew  all  the  paths,  and 
used  to  pot  at  us  as  we  came  round  a  corner; 
but  the  mounted  police  knew  the  paths  as  well 
as  the  dakus,  and  we  used  to  go  stalking  'em 
in  and  out  among  the  paths.  Once  we  flushed 
'em — the  men  on  the  ponies  had  the  pull  of 
the  man  on  foot.  We  held  all  the  country  ab- 
solutely quiet  for  ten  miles  round  in  about  a 
month.  Then  we  took  Boh  Na-ghee — Hick- 
sey  and  I  and  the  civil  officer.  That  was  a 
lark!" 

'  i  think  I  am  beginning  to  understand  a  lit- 
tle," said  Cleever.  "It  was  a  pleasure  to  you 
to  administer  and  fight,  and  so  on." 

"Rather.  There's  nothing  nicer  than  a  sat- 
isfactory little  expedition,  when  you  find  all 
your  plans  fit  together  and  your  conformations 
teek — correct,  you  know — and  the  whole  sub- 
chiz — I  mean  when  everything  works  out  like 
formulae  on  a  blackboard.  Hicksey  had  all  the 
information  about  the  Boh.  He  had  been 
burning  villages  and  murdering  people  right 
and  left,  and  cutting  up  government  convoys, 
and  all  that.  He  was  lying  doggo  in  a  village 
about  fifteen  miles  off,  waiting  to  get  a  fresh 
gang  together.  So  we  arranged  to  take  thirty 
mounted  police,  and  turn  him  out  before  he 
could  plunder  into  the  newly  settled  villages. 


OF  THE  POWERS  217 

At  the  last  minute  the  civil  officer  in  our  part 
of  the  world  thought  he'd  assist  in  the  per- 
formance." 

"Who  was  he?"  said  Nevin. 

"His  name  was  Dennis,"  said  the  Infant, 
slowly ;  "and  we'll  let  it  stay  so.  He's  a  better 
man  now  than  he  was  then." 

"But  how  old  was  the  civil  power?"  said 
Cleever.  ^"The  situation  is  developing  itself." 
Then,  in  his  beard:  "Who  are  you,  to  judge 
men?" 

"He  was  about  six-and-twenty,"  said  the 
Infant;  "and  he  was  aw  fly  clever.  He  knew 
a  lot  of  literary  things,  but  I  don't  think  he 
was  quite  steady  enough  for  Dacoit-hunting. 
We  started  over  night  for  Boh  Na-ghee's  vil- 
lage, and  we  got  there  just  before  the  morning, 
without  raising  an  alarm.  Dennis  had  turned 
out  armed  to  the  teeth — two  revolvers,  a  car- 
bine, and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  was  talking 
to  Hicksey  about  posting  our  men,  and  Dennis 
edged  his  pony  in  between  us  and  said :  'What 
shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?  Tell  me  what 
to  do,  you  fellows.'  We  didn't  take  much 
notice,  but  his  pony  tried  to  bite  me  in  the 
leg,  and  I  said:  'Pull  out  a  bit,  old  man, 
till  we've  settled  the  attack.'  He  kept  edging 
in,  and  fiddling  with  his  reins  and  the  revol- 


218  A  CONFERENCE 

vers,  and  saying:  'Dear  me!  dear  me!  Oh, 
clear  me!  What  do  you  think  I'd  better  do?' 
The  man  was  in  a  blue  funk  and  his  teeth  were 
chattering." 

"I  sympathize  with  the  civil  power,"  said 
Cleever.     "Continue,  young  Give." 

"The  fun  of  it  was  that  he  was  supposed 
to  be  our  superior  officer.  Hicksey  took  a 
good  look  at  him,  and  told  him  to  attach 
himself  to  my  party.  Beastly  mean  of  Hick- 
sey, that.  The  chap  kept  on  edging  in  and 
bothering,  instead  of  asking  for  some  men 
and  taking  up  his  own  position,  till  I  got 
angry.  The  carbines  began  popping  on  the 
other  side  of  the  village.  Then  I  said:  Tor 
God's  sake,  be  quiet,  and  sit  down  where 
you  are!  If  you  see  anybody  come  out  of  the 
village,  shoot  at  him.'  I  knew  he  couldn't 
hit  a  hayrick  at  a  yard.  Then  I  took  my  men 
over  the  garden  wall — over  the  palisades, 
y'  know — somehow  or  other,  z  id  the  fun  be- 
gan. Hicksey  had  found  the  Boh  in  bed  under 
a  mosquito  curtain,  and  he  had  taken  a  flying 
jump  on  to  him." 

"A  flying  jump!"  said  Cleever.  "Is  that 
also  war?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Infant,  now  thoroughly 
warmed.     "Don't  you  know  how  you  take  a 


OF  THE  POWERS  219 

flying  jump  on  to  a  fellow's  head  at  school 
when  he  snores  in  the  dormitory?  The  Boh 
was  sleeping  in  a  regular  bedful  of  swords  and 
pistols,  and  Hicksey  came  down  a  la  Zazel 
through  the  netting,  and  the  net  got  mixed 
up  with  the  pistols  and  the  Boh  and  Hicksey, 
and  they  all  rolled  on  the  floor  together.  I 
laughed  till  I  couldn't  stand,  and  Hicksey 
was  cursing  me  for  not  helping  him,  so  I 
left  him  to  fight  it  out,  and  went  into  the  vil- 
lage. Our  men  were  slashing  about  and  firing, 
and  so  were  the  Dacoits,  and  in  the  thick  of 
the  mess  some  ass  set  fire  to  a  house,  and  we 
all  had  to  clear  out.  I  froze  on  the  nearest 
daku  and  ran  to  the  palisade,  shoving  him 
in  front  of  me.  He  wriggled  clear  and 
bounded  over  to  the  other  side.  I  came  after 
him,  but  when  I  had  one  leg  on  one  side  and 
one  leg  the  other  of  the  palisade,  I  saw 
that  my  friend  had  fallen  flat  on  Dennis's 
head.  That  man  had  never  moved  from 
where  I  left  him.  The  two  rolled  on  the 
ground  together,  and  Dennis's  carbine  went  off 
and  nearly  shot  me.  The  daku  picked  him- 
self up  and  ran,  and  Dennis  heaved  his  car- 
bine after  him,  and  it  caught  him  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  knocked  him  silly.  You 
never  saw   anything  so   funny  in  your    life. 


220  A  CONFERENCE 

I  doubled  up  on  the  top  of  the  palisade  and 
hung  there,  yelling  with  laughter.  But  Den- 
nis began  to  weep  like  anything.  *  Oh,  I've 
killed  a  man !'  he  said — Tve  killed  a  man,  and 
I  shall  never  know  another  peaceful  hour  in  my 
life!  Is  he  dead?  Oh,  is  he  dead?  Good 
God!  I've  killed  a  man!'  I  came  down  and 
said:  'Don't  be  a  fool!'  But  he  kept  on 
shouting  'Is  he  dead?'  till  I  could  have  kicked 
him.  The  daku  was  only  knocked  out  of  time 
with  the  carbine.  He  came  to  after  a  bit,  and 
I  said:  'Are  you  hurt  much?'  He  grinned 
and  said  no.  His  chest  was  all  cut  with 
scrambling  over  the  palisade.  'The  white 
man's  gun  didn't  do  that,'  he  said.  'I  did  that 
myself,  and  I  knocked  the  white  man  over.' 
Just  like  a  Burman,  wasn't  it?  Dennis 
wouldn't  be  happy  at  any  price.  He  said: 
'Tie  up  his  wounds.  He'll  bleed  to  death. 
Oh,  my  God,  he'll  bleed  to  death!'  'Tie  'em 
up  yourself,'  I  said,  'if  you're  so  anxious/  'I 
can't  touch  him,'  said  Dennis,  'but  here's  my 
shirt.'  He  took  off  his  shirt,  and  he  fixed  his 
braces  again  over  his  bare  shoulders.  I  ripped 
the  shirt  up  and  bandaged  the  Dacoit  quite 
professionally.  He  was  grinning  at  Dennis 
all  the  time ;  and  Dennis's  haversack  was  lying 
on  the  ground,  bursting    full    of  sandwiches. 


OF  THE  POWERS  221 

Greedy  hog!  I  took  some  and  offered  some 
to  Dennis.  'How  can  I  eat?'  he  said.  'How 
can  you  ask  me  to  eat?  His  very  blood  is 
on  your  hands,  oh,  God!  and  your  eating  my 
sandwiches!'  'All  right/  I  said.  Til  give 
'em  to  the  daku."  So  I  did,  and  the  little 
chap  was  quite  pleased,  and  wolfed  'em  down 
like  one  o'clock." 

Cleever  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table- 
cloth a  thump  that  made  the  empty  glasses 
dance.  "That's  art,"  he  said.  "Flat,  flagrant 
mechanism.  Don't  tell  me  what  happened 
on  the  spot!" 

The  pupils  of  the  Infant's  eyes  contracted 
to  pin  points.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said 
slowly  and  a  little  stiffly,  "but  I  am  telling  this 
thing  as  it  happened." 

Cleever  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "My 
fault  entirely,"  said  he.  "I  should  have 
known.     Please  go  on." 

"Oh,  then  Hicksey  came  out  of  what  was 
left  of  the  village  with  his  prisoners  and  cap- 
tives all  neatly  tied  up.  Boh  Na-ghee  was 
first,  and  one  of  the  villagers,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  the  old  ruffian  helpless,  began  kicking 
him  quietly.  The  Boh  stood  it  as  long  as 
he  could,  and  then  groaned,  and  we  saw  what 
was  going  on.     Hicksey  tied  the  villager  up 


222  A  CONFERENCE 

and  gave  him  half  a  dozen  good  ones  to  re- 
mind him  to  leave  a  prisoner  alone.  You 
should  have  seen  the  old  Boh  grin.  Oh,  but 
Hicksey  was  in  a  furious  rage  with  every- 
body. He'd  got  a  wipe  over  the  elbow  that 
had  tickled  up  his  funny-bone,  and  he  was 
simply  rabid  with  me  for  not  having  helped 
him  with  the  Boh  and  the  mosquito  net.  I 
had  to  explain  that  I  couldn't  do  anything. 
If  you'd  seen  'em  both  tangled  up  together 
on  the  floor,  like  a  blaspheming  cocoon,  you'd 
have  laughed  for  a  week,  Hicksey  swore  that 
the  only  decent  man  of  his  acquaintance  was 
the  Boh,  and  all  the  way  back  to  camp  Hicksey 
was  talking  to  him,  and  the  Boh  was  grumb- 
ling about  the  soreness  of  his  bones.  When 
we  got  home  and  had  had  a  bath,  the  Boh 
wante  to  know  when  he  was  going  to  be 
hanged.  Hicksey  said  he  couldn't  oblige  him 
on  the  spot,  but  had  to  send  him  to  Ran- 
goon. The  Boh  went  down  on  his  knees  and 
reeled  off  a  catalogue  of  his  crimes — he  ought 
to  have  been  hanged  seventeen  times  over  by 
his  own  confession — and  implored  Hicksey 
to  settle  the  business  out  of  hand.  JIf  I'm 
sent  to  Rangoon,'  said  he,  'they'll  keep  me 
in  jail  all  my  life,  and  that  is  a  death  every 
dme  the  sun  gets  up  or  the  wind  blows.'    But 


OF  THE  POWERS  223 

we  had  to  send  him  to  Rangoon;  and,  of 
course,  he  was  let  off  down  there  and  given 
penal  servitude  for  life.  When  I  came  to 
Rangoon  I  went  over  the  jail — I  had  helped 
to  fill  it,  y'  know — and  the  old  Boh  was  there 
and  recognized  me  at  once.  He  begged  for 
some  opium  first,  and  I  tried  to  get  him  some ; 
but  that  was  against  the  rules.  Then  he  asked 
me  to  have  his  sentence  changed  to  death, 
because  he  was  afraid  of  being  sent  to  the 
'Andamans.  I  couldn't  do  that,  either;  but 
I  tried  to  cheer  him,  and  told  him  how  the 
row  was  going  up  country.  And  the  last 
thing  he  said  was:  'Give  my  compliments  to 
the  fat  white  man  who  jumped  on  me.  If  I'd 
been  awake  I'd  have  killed  him.'  I  wrote 
that  to  Hicksey  next  mail,  and — and  that's 
all.     I'm  'fraid  I've  been  gassing  awf'ly,  sir." 

Cleever  said  nothing  for  a  long  time.  The 
Infant  looked  uncomfortable.  He  feared  that, 
misled  by  enthusiasm,  he  had  filled  up  the 
novelist's  time  with  unprofitable  recital  of  triv- 
ial anecdotes. 

Then  said  Cleever:  "I  can't  understand 
it.  Why  should  you  have  seen  and  done  all 
these  things  before  you  have  cut  your  wis- 
dom-teeth?" 

"Don't  know,"  said  the  Infant,  apologeti- 


224  A  CONFERENCE 

cally.  "I  haven't  seen  much — only  Burmese 
jungle." 

"And  dead  men  and  war  and  power  and 
responsibility,"  said  Cleever,  under  his  breath. 
"You  won't  have  any  sensations  left  at  thirty 
if  you  go  on  as  you  have  done.  But  I  want 
to  hear  more  tales — more  tales."  He  seemed 
to  forget  that  even  subalterns  might  have 
engagements  of  their  own. 

"We're  thinking  of  dining  out  somewhere, 
the  lot  of  us,  and  going  on  to  the  Empire 
afterward,"  said  Nevin,  with  hesitation.  He 
did  not  like  to  ask  Cleever  to  come  too.  The 
invitation  might  be  regarded  as  "cheek."  And 
Cleever,  anxious  not  to  wag  a  grey  beard  un- 
bidden among  boys  at  large,  said  nothing  on 
his  side. 

Boileau  solved  the  little  difficulty  by  blurt- 
ing out:     "Won't  you  come  too,  sir?" 

Cleever  almost  shouted  "Yes,"  and  while 
he  was  being  helped  into  his  coat,  continued 
to  murmur  "Good  heavens!"  at  intervals,  in 
a  manner  that  the  boys  could  not  understand. 

"I  don't  think  I've  been  to  the  Empire  in 
my  life,"  said  he.  "But,  good  heavens!  what 
is  my  life,  after  all?    Let  us  go  back." 

So  they  went  out  with  Eustace  Cleever, 
and  I  sulked  at  home,  because  the  boys  had 


OF  THE  POWERS  225 

come  to  see  me,  but  had  gone  over  to  the 
better  man,  which  was  humiliating.  They 
packed  him  into  a  cab  with  utmost  reverence, 
for  was  he  not  the  author  of  "As  it  was  in  the 
Beginning,"  and  a  person  in  whose  company 
it  was  an  honor  to  go  abroad?  From  all  I 
gathered  later,  he  had  taken  no  less  interest 
in  the  performance  before  him  than  in  the 
boys'  conversation,  and  they  protested  with 
emphasis  that  he  was  "as  good  a  man  as  they 
make,  knew  what  a  man  was  driving  at  almost 
before  he  said  it,  and  yet  he's  so  dashed 
simple  about  things  any  man  knows."  That 
was  one  of  many  comments  made  afterward. 

At  midnight  they  returned,  announcing  that 
they  were  highly  respectable  gondoliers,  and 
that  oysters  and  stout  were  what  they  chiefly 
needed.  The  eminent  novelist  was  still  with 
them,  and  I  think  he  was  calling  them  by 
their  shorter  names.  I  am  certain  that  he 
said  he  had  been  moving  in  worlds  not  real- 
ized, and  that  they  had  shown  him  the  Em- 
pire in  a  new  light  Still  sore  at  recent  ne- 
glect, I  answered  shortly:  "Thank  Heaven, 
we  have  within  the  land  ten  thousand  as  good 
as  they!"  and  when  Cleever  departed,  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  things  generally. 

He  replied  with  another  quotation,  to  the 


226  A  CONFERENCE 

effect  that  though  singing  was  a  remarkable 
fine  performance,  I  was  to  be  quite  sure  that 
few  lips  would  be  moved  to  song  if  they  could 
find  a  sufficiency  of  kissing. 

Whereat  I  understood  that  Eustace  Cleever, 
decorator  and  color  man  in  words,  was  blas- 
pheming his  own  art,  and  that  he  would  be 
sorry  for  this  in  the  morning. 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY 


WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY 


Up>UT  if  it  be  a  girl?" 

-D  "Lord  of  my  life,  it  cannot  be!  I 
have  prayed  for  so  many  nights,  and  sent 
gifts  to  Sheikh  Badl's  shrine  so  often,  that 
I  know  God  will  give  us  a  son — a  man-child 
that  shall  grow  into  a  man.  Think  of  this 
and  be  glad.  My  mother  shall  be  his  mother 
till  I  can  take  him  again,  and  the  mullah  of 
the  Pattan  Mosque  shall  cast  his  nativity — 
God  send  he  be  born  in  an  auspicious  hour! — • 
and  then,  and  then  thou  wilt  never  weary  of 
me,  thy  slave." 

"Since  when  hast  thou  been  a  slave,  my 
queen?" 

"Since  the  beginning — till  this  mercy  came 
to  me.  How  could  I  be  sure  of  thy  love  when 
I  knew  that  I  had  been  bought  with  silver?" 

"Nay,  that  was  the  dowry,.  I  paid  it  to 
thy  mother." 

"And  she  has  buried  it,  and  sits  upon  it 
all  day  long  like  a  hen.  What  talk  is  yours 
of  dowry?  I  was  bought  as  though  I  had 
been  a  Lucknow  dancing-girl  instead  of  a 
child." 

229 


230  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

"Art  thou  sorry  for  the  sale?" 

"I  have  sorrowed;  but  to-day  I  am  glad. 
Thou  wilt  never  cease  to  love  me  now?  An- 
swer, my  king." 

"Never — never.     No." 

"Not  even  though  the  mem-log — the  white 
women  of  thy  own  blood — love  thee?  And 
remember,  I  have  watched  them  driving  in 
the  evening;  they  are  very  fair." 

"I  have  seen  fire-balloons  by  the  hundred, 
I  have  seen  the  moon,  and — then  I  saw  no 
more  fire-balloons." 

Ameera  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed. 
"Very  good  talk,"  she  said.  Then,  with  an 
assumption  of  great  stateliness:  "It  is 
enough.  Thou  hast  my  permission  to  depart 
— if  thou  wilt." 

The  man  did  not  move.  He  was  sitting  on 
a  low  red-lacquered  couch  in  a  room  furnished 
only  with  a  blue-and-white  floor-cloth,  some 
rugs,  and  a  very  complete  collection  of  native 
cushions.  At  his  feet  sat  a  woman  of  sixteen, 
and  she  was  all  but  all  in  the  world  in  his  eyes. 
By  every  rule  and  law  she  should  have  been 
otherwise,  for  he  was  an  Englishman  and 
she  a  Mussulman's  daughter,  bought  two 
years  before  from  her  mother,  who,  being 
left  without  money,  would  have  sold  Ameera, 


OF  CLERGY  23 1 

shrieking,  to  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  if  the 
price  had  been  sufficient. 

It  was  a  contract  entered  into  with  a  light 
heart.  But  even  before  the  girl  had  reached 
her  bloom  she  came  to  fill  the  greater  portion 
of  John  Holden's  life.  For  her  and  the  with- 
ered hag  her  mother  he  had  taken  a  little 
house  overlooking  the  great  red-walled  city, 
and  found,  when  the  marigolds  had  sprung  up 
by  the  well  in  the  courtyard,  and  Ameera  had 
established  herself  according  to  her  own  ideas 
of  comfort,  and  her  mother  had  ceased 
grumbling  at  the  inadequacy  of  the  cooking- 
places,  the  distance  from  the  daily  market,  and 
matters  of  housekeeping  in  general,  that  the 
house  was  to  him  his  home.  Any  one  could 
enter  his  bachelor's  bungalow  by  day  or  night, 
and  the  life  that  he  led  there  was  an  unlovely 
one.  In  the  house  in  the  city  his  feet  only 
could  pass  beyond  the  outer  court-yard  to  the 
women's  rooms;  and  when  the  big  wooden 
p-ate  was  bolted  behind  him  he  was  king  in  his 
own  territory,  with  Ameera  for  queen.  And 
there  was  going  to  be  added  to  this  kingdom  a 
third  person,  whose  arrival  Holden  felt  in- 
clined to  resent.  It  interfered  with  his  perfect 
happiness.  It  disarranged  the  orderly  peace 
of  the  house  that  was  his  own.     But  Ameera 


232  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

was  wild  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  it, 
and  her  mother  not  less  so.  The  love  of  a 
man,  and  particularly  a  white  man,  was  at 
the  best  an  inconstant  affair,  but  it  might, 
both  women  argued,  be  held  fast  by  a  baby's 
hands.  "And  then,"  Ameera  would  always 
say — "then  he  will  never  care  for  the  white 
mem-log.    I  hate  them  all — I  hate  them  all !" 

"He  will  go  back  to  his  own  people  in  time," 
said  the  mother,  "but,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
that  time  is  yet  afar  off." 

Holden  sat  silent  on  the  couch,  thinking 
of  the  future,  and  his  thoughts  were  not  pleas- 
ant. The  drawbacks  of  a  double  life  are 
manifold.  The  government,  with  singular 
care,  had  ordered  him  out  of  the  station  for 
a  fortnight  on  special  duty,  in  the  place  of  a 
man  who  was  watching  by  the  bedside  of  a 
sick  wife.  The  verbal  notification  of  the 
transfer  had  been  edged  by  a  cheerful  remark 
that  Holden  ought  to  think  himself  lucky  in 
being  a  bachelor  and  a  free  man.  He  came 
to  break  the  news  to  Ameera. 

"It.  is  not  good,"  she  said  slowly,  "but  it 
is  not  all  bad.  There  is  my  mother  here,  and 
no  harm  will  come  to  me — unless,  indeed,  I 
die  of  pure  joy.  Go  thou  to  thy  work,  and 
think  no  troublesome  thoughts.     When  the 


OF  CLERGY  233 

days  are  done,  I  believe  .  .  .  nay,  I  am  sure. 
And — then  I  shall  lay  him  in  thy  arms,  and 
thou  wilt  love  me  forever.  The  train  goes 
to-night — at  midnight,  is  it  not  ?  Go  now,  and 
do  not  let  thy  heart  be  heavy  by  cause  of  me. 
But  thou  wilt  not  delay  in  returning!  Thou 
wilt  not  stay  on  the  road  to  talk  to  the  bold 
white  mem-log!  Come  back  to  me  swiftly, 
my  lifer 

As  he  left  the  court-yard  to  reach  his  horse, 
that  was  tethered  to  the  gate-post,  Holden 
spoke  to  the  white-haired  old  watchman  who 
guarded  the  house,  and  bid  him  under  certain 
contingencies  dispatch  the  filled-up  telegraph 
form  that  Holden  gave  him.  It  was  all  that 
could  be  done,  and,  with  the  sensations  of  a 
man  who  has  attended  his  own  funeral,  Hold- 
en went  away  by  the  night  mail  to  his  exile. 
Every  hour  of  the  day  he  dreaded  the  arrival 
of  the  telegram,  and  every  hour  of  the  night  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  death  of  Ameera.  In 
consequence,  his  work  for  the  state  was  not  of 
first-rate  quality,  nor  was  his  temper  toward 
his  colleagues  of  the  most  amiable.  The  fort- 
night ended  without  a  sign  from  his  home, 
and,  torn  to  pieces  by  his  anxieties,  Holden 
returned  to  be  swallowed  up  for  two  precious 
hours  by  a  dinner  at  the  club,  wherein  he 


234  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

heard,  as  a  man  hears  in  a  swoon,  voices  tell- 
ing him  how  execrably  he  had  performed  the 
other  man's  duties,  and  how  he  had  endeared 
himself  to  all  his  associates.  Then  he  fled  on 
horseback  through  the  night  with  his  heart 
in  his  mouth.  There  was  no  answer  at  first 
to  his  blows  on  the  gate,  and  he  had  just 
wheeled  his  horse  round  to  kick  it  in,  when 
Pir  Khan  appeared  with  a  lantern  and  held 
his  stirrup. 

"Has  aught  occurred  ?"  said  Holden. 

"The  news  does  not  come  from  my  mouth, 
Protector  of  the  Poor,  but" —  He  held  out  his 
shaking  hand,  as  befitted  the  bearer  of  good 
news  who  is  entitled  to  a  reward. 

Holden  hurried  through  the  court-yard.  A 
light  burned  in  the  upper  room.  His  horse 
neighed  in  the  gateway,  and  he  heard  a  pin- 
pointed wail  that  sent  all  the  blood  into  the 
apple  of  his  throat.  It  was  a  new  voice,  but  it 
did  not  prove  that  Ameera  was  alive. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  called  up  the  narrow 
brick  staircase. 

There  was  a  cry  of  delight  from  Ameera 
and  then  the  voice  of  her  mother,  tremulous 
with  old  age  and  pride :  "We  be  two  women, 
and — the — man — thy  son." 

On    the    threshold    of    the    room    Holden 


OF  CLERGY  235 

stepped  on  a  naked  dagger  that  was  laid  there 
to  avert  ill-luck,  and  it  broke  at  the  hilt  under 
his  impatient  heel. 

"God  is  great!"  cooed  Ameera  in  the  half- 
light.  "Thou  hast  taken  his  misfortunes  on 
thy  head." 

"Ay,  but  how  is  it  with  thee,  life  of  my 
life?    Old  woman,  how  is  it  with  her?" 

"She  has  forgotten  her  sufferings  for  joy 
that  the  child  is  born.  There  is  no  harm ;  but 
speak  softly,"  said  the  mother. 

"It  only  needed  thy  presence  to  make  me 
all  well,"  said  Ameera.  "My  king,  thou  hast 
been  very  long  away.  What  gifts  hast  thou 
for  me?  Ah!  ah!  It  is  I  that  bring  gifts 
this  time.  Look,  my  life,  look!  Was  there 
ever  such  a  babe?  Nay,  I  am  too  weak  even 
to  clear  my  arm  from  him." 

"Rest,  then,  and  do  not  talk.  I  am  here, 
bachheri  (little  woman). 

"Well  said,  for  there  is  a  bond  and  a  heel- 
rope  '(peecharee)  between  us  now  that  noth- 
ing can  break.  Look — canst  thou  see  in  this 
light?  He  is  without  spot  or  blemish.  Never 
was  such  a  man-child.  Ya  Mali!  he  shall  be 
a  pundit — no,  a  trooper  of  the  queen.  And, 
my  life,  dost  thou  love  me  as  well  as  ever, 
though  I  am  faint  and  sick  and  worn?  An- 
swer truly." 


236  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

"Yea.  I  love  as  I  have  loved,  with  all  my 
soul.     Lie  still,  pearl,  and  rest." 

"Then  do  not  go.  Sit  by  my  side  here — 
so.  Mother,  the  lord  of  this  house  needs  a 
cushion.  Bring  it."  There  was  an  almost 
imperceptible  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
new  life  that  lay  in  the  hollow  of  Ameera's 
arm.  "Aho!"  she  said,  her  voice  breaking 
with  love.  "The  babe  is  a  champion  from  his 
birth.  He  is  kicking  me  in  the  side  with 
mighty  kicks.  Was  there  ever  such  a  babe? 
And  he  is  ours  to  us — thine  and  mine.  Put 
thy  hand  on  his  head,  but  carefully,  for  he  is 
very  young,  and  men  are  unskilled  in  such 
matters." 

Very  cautiously  Holden  touched  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  the  downy  head. 

"He  is  of  the  Faith,"  said  Ameera;  "for, 
lying  here  in  the  night-watches,  I  whispered 
the  Call  to  Prayer  and  the  Profession  of  Faith 
into  his  ears.  And  it  is  most  marvelous  that 
he  was  born  upon  a  Friday,  as  I  was  born. 
Be  careful  of  him,  my  life;  but  he  can  almost 
grip  with  his  hands." 

Holden  found  one  helpless  little  hand  that 
closed  feebly  on  his  finger.  And  the  clutch 
ran  through  his  limbs  till  it  settled  about  his 
heart.    Till  then  his  sole  thought  had  been  for 


OF  CLERGY  237 

Ameera.  He  began  to  realize  that  there  was 
some  one  else  in  the  world,  but  he  could  not 
feel  that  it  was  a  veritable  son  with  a  soul. 
He  sat  down  to  think,  and  Ameera  dozed 
lightly. 

"Get  hence,  sahib,"  said  her  mother,  under 
her  breath.  "It  is  not  good  that  she  should 
find  you  here  on  waking.     She  must  be  still." 

"I  go,"  said  Holden,  submissively.  "Here 
be  rupees.  See  that  my  baba  gets  fat  and  finds 
all  that  he  needs." 

The  chink  of  the  silver  roused  Ameera.  "I 
am  his  mother,  and  no  hireling,"  she  said, 
weakly.  "Shall  I  look  to  him  more  or  less 
for  the  sake  of  money  ?  Mother,  give  it  back. 
I  have  borne  my  lord  a  son." 

The  deep  sleep  of  weakness  came  upon  her 
almost  before  the  sentence  was  completed. 
Holden  went  down  to  the  court-yard  very 
softly,  with  his  heart  at  ease.  Pir  Khan,  the 
old  watchman,  was  chuckling  with  delight. 

"This  house  is  now  complete,"  he  said,  and 
without  further  comment  thrust  into  Holden's 
hands  the  hilt  of  a  sabre  worn  many  years 
ago,  when  Pir  Khan  served  the  queen  in  the 
police.  The  bleat  of  a  tethered  goat  came  from 
the  well-curb. 

"There    be    two,"    said    Pir    Khan— "two 


238  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

goats  of  the  best.  I  bought  them,  and  they 
cost  much  money ;  and  since  there  is  no  birth- 
party  assembled,  their  flesh  will  be  all  mine. 
Strike  craftily,  sahib.  'Tis  an  ill-balanced 
sabre  at  the  best.  Wait  till  they  raise  their 
heads  from  cropping  the  marigolds." 

"And  why?"  said  Holden,  bewildered. 

"For  the  birth  sacrifice.  What  else? 
Otherwise  the  child,  being  unguarded  from 
fate,  may  die.  The  Protector  of  the  Poor 
knows  the  fitting  words  to  be  said." 

Holden  had  learned  them  once,  with  little 
thought  that  he  would  ever  say  them  in  ear- 
nest. The  touch  of  the  cold  sabre-hilt  in  his 
palm  turned  suddenly  to  the  clinging  grip  of 
the  child  upstairs — the  child  that  was  his  own 
son — and  a  dread  of  loss  filled  him. 

"Strike!"  said  Pir  Khan.  "Never  life 
came  into  the  world  but  life  was  paid  for  it. 
See,  the  goats  have  raised  their  heads.  Now ! 
With  a  drawing  cut !" 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did  Holden  cut 
twice  as  he  muttered  the  Mohammedan  prayer 
that  runs:  "Almighty!  In  place  of  this  my 
son  I  offer  life  for  life,  blood  for  blood,  head 
for  head,  bone  for  bone,  hair  for  hair,  skin  for 
skin."  The  waiting  horse  snorted  and 
bounded  in  his  pickets  at  the  smell  of  the  raw 


OF  CLERGY  239 

blood  that  spurted  over  Holden's  riding- 
boots. 

"Well  smitten!"  said  Pir  Khan,  wiping  the 
sabre.  "A  swordsman  was  lost  in  thee.  Go 
with  a  light  heart,  neaven  born.  I  am  thy 
servant  and  the  servant  of  thy  son.  May  the 
Presence  live  a  thousand  years,  and  .  .  . 
the  flesh  of  the  goats  is  all  mine?" 

Pir  Khan  drew  back  richer  by  a  month's 
pay.  Holden  swung  himself  into  the  saddle 
and  rode  off  through  the  low-hanging  wood 
smoke  of  the  evening.  He  was  full  of  riotous 
exultation,  alternating  with  a  vast  vague  ten- 
derness directed  toward  no  particular  object, 
that  made  him  choke  as  he  bent  over  the  neck 
of  his  uneasy  horse.  "I  never  felt  like  this  in 
my  life,"  he  thought.  "I'll  go  to  the  club  and 
pull  myself  together." 

A  game  of  pool  was  beginning,  and  the 
room  was  full  of  men.  Holden  entered, 
eager  to  get  to  the  light  and  the  company  of 
his  fellows,  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"'In  Baltimore  a-walking,  a  lady  I  did  meet'* 

"Did  you?"  said  the  club  secretary  from 
his  corner.  "Did  she  happen  to  tell  you  that 
your  boots  were  wringing  wet.  Great  good- 
ness, man,  it's  blood!" 


240  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

"Bosh!"  said  Hclden,  picking  his  cue  from 
the  rack.  "May  I  cut  in?  It's  dew.  I've 
been  riding  through  high  crops.  My  faith! 
my  boots  are  in  a  mess,  though! 

"'And  if  it  be  a  girl,  she  shall  wear  a  wedding-ring; 
And  if  it  be  a  boy,  he  shall  fight  for  his  king; 
With  his  dirk  and  his  cap,  and  his  little  jacket  blue, 
He  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck' " — 

"Yellow  and  blue — green  next  player,"  said 
the  marker,  monotonously. 

"  He  shall  walk  the  quarter-deck' — am  I 
green,  marker? — 'he  shall  walk  the  quarter- 
deck ! — ouch !  that's  a  bad  shot ! — 'as  his  daddy 
used  to  do!'" 

"I  don't  see  that  you  have  anything  to  crow 
about,"  said  a  zealous  junior  civilian,  acidly. 
"The  government  is  not  exactly  pleased  with 
your  work  when  you  relieved  Sanders." 

"Does  that  mean  a  wigging  from  headquar- 
ters?" said  Holden,  with  an  abstracted  smile, 
"I  think  I  can  stand  it." 

The  talk  beat  up  round  the  ever-fresh  sub- 
ject of  each  man's  work,  and  steadied  Holden 
till  it  was  time  to  go  to  his  dark,  empty  bunga- 
low, where  his  butler  received  him  as  one  who 
knew  all  his  affairs.  Holden  remained  awake 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  and  his 
dreams  were  pleasant  ones. 


OF  CLERGY  241 

II 

"How  old  is  he  now?" 

"Ya  illah!  What  a  man's  question!  He 
is  all  but  six  weeks  old;  and  on  this  night  I 
go  up  to  the  house-top  with  thee,  my  life,  to 
count  the  stars.  For  that  is  auspicious.  And 
he  was  born  on  a  Friday,  under  the  sign  of 
the  Sun,  and  it  has  been  told  to  me  that  he 
will  outlive  us  both  and  get  wealth.  Can  we 
wish  for  aught  better,  beloved?" 

"There  is  nothing  better.  Let  us  go  up  to 
the  roof  and  thou  shalt  count  the  stars — but 
a  few  only,  for  the  sky  is  heavy  with  cloud. " 

"The  winter  rains  are  late,  and  maybe  they 
come  out  of  season.  Come,  before  all  the 
stars  are  hid.  I  have  put  on  my  richest 
jewels." 

"Thou  hast  forgotten  the  best  of  all." 

"Ai!  Ours.  He  comes  also.  He  has 
never  yet  seen  the  skies." 

Ameera  climbed  the  narrow  staircase  that 
led  to  the  flat  roof.  The  child,  placid  and 
unwinking,  lay  in  the  hollow  of  her  right 
arm,  gorgeous  in  silver-fringed  muslin,  with 
a  small  skull-cap  on  his  head.  Ameera  wore 
all  that  she  valued  most.  The  diamond  nose- 
stud  that  takes  the  place  of  the  Western  patch 


242  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

in  drawing  attention  to  the  curve  of  the  nos- 
tril, the  gold  ornament  in  the  centre  of  the 
forehead  studded  with  tallow-drop  emeralds 
and  flawed  rubies,  the  heavy  circlet  of  beaten 
gold  that  was  fastened  round  her  neck  by  the 
softness  of  the  pure  metal,  and  the  chinking 
curb-patterned  silver  anklets  hanging  low  over 
the  rosy  ankle-bone.  She  was  dressed  in 
jade-green  muslin,  as  befitted  a  daughter  of 
the  Faith,  and  from  shoulder  to  elbow  and 
elbow  to  wrist  ran  bracelets  of  silver  tied  with 
floss  silk,  frail  glass  bangles  slipped  over  the 
wrist  in  proof  of  the  slenderness  of  the  hand, 
and  certain  heavy  gold  bracelets  that  had  no 
part  in  her  country's  ornaments,  but  since  they 
were  Holden's  gift,  and  fastened  with  a  cun- 
ning European  snap,  delighted  her  immensely. 

They  sat  down  by  the  low  white  parapet  of 
the  roof,  overlooking  the  city  and  its  lights. 

"They  are  happy  down  there,"  said  Ameera. 
"But  I  do  not  think  that  they  are  as  happy  as 
we.  Nor  do  I  think  the  white  mem-log  are 
as  happy.     And  thou?" 

"I  know  they  are  not." 

"How  dost  thou  know?" 

"They  give  their  children  over  to  the 
nurses." 

"I  have  never  seen  that,"  said  Ameera,  with" 


OF  CLERGY  243 

a  sigh;  "nor  do  I  wish  to  see.  Ahi!" — she 
dropped  her  head  on  Holden's  shoulder — "I 
have  counted  forty  stars,  and  I  am  tired.  Look 
at  the  child,  love  of  my  life.  He  is  counting, 
too." 

The  baby  was  staring  with  round  eyes  at 
the  dark  of  the  heavens.  Ameera  placed  him 
in  Holden's  arms,  and  he  lay  there  without  a 
cry. 

"What  shall  we  call  him  among  ourselves  ?" 
she  said.  "Look!  Art  thou  ever  tired  of 
looking?  He  carries  thy  very  eyes!  But  the 
mouth" — 

"Is  thine,  most  dear.  Who  should  know 
better  than  I  ?" 

"Tis  such  a  feeble  mouth.  Oh,  so  small! 
And  yet  it  holds  my  heart  between  its  lips. 
Give  him  to  me  now.  He  has  been  too  long 
away." 

"Nay,  let  him  lie;  he  has  not  vet  begun  to 
cry." 

"When  he  cries  thou  wilt  give  him  back, 
eh?  What  a  man  of  mankind  thou  art!  If 
he  cried,  he  v  ere  only  the  dearer  to  me.  But, 
my  life,  what  little  name  shall  we  give  him?" 

The  small  body  lay  close  to  Holden's  heart. 
It  was  utterly  helpless  and  very  soft.  He 
scarcely  dared  to  breathe  for  fear  of  crushing 


244  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

it.  The  caged  green  parrot,  that  is  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  guardian  spirit  in  most  native 
households,  moved  on  its  perch  and  fluttered 
a  drowsy  wing. 

'There  is  the  answer,"  said  Holden.  "Mian 
Mittu  has  spoken.  He  shall  be  the  parrot. 
When  he  is  ready  he  will  talk  mightily,  and 
run  about.  Mian  Mittu  is  the  parrot  in  thy — 
in  the  Mussulman  tongue,  is  it  not?" 

"Why  put  me  so  far  off?"  said  Ameera, 
fretfully.  "Let  it  be  like  unto  some  English 
name — but  not  wholly.     For  he  is  mine." 

"Then  call  him  Tota,  for  that  is  likest  Eng- 
lish." 

"Ay,  Tota;  and  that  is  still  the  parrot. 
Forgive  me,  my  lord,  for  a  minute  ago;  but, 
in  truth,  he  is  too  little  to  wear  all  the  weight 
of  Mian  Mittu  for  name.  He  shall  be  Tota 
—our  Tota  to  us.  Hearest  thou,  oh,  small 
one?     Littlest,  thou  art  Tota." 

She  touched  the  child's  cheek,  and,  he  wak- 
ing, wailed,  and  it  was  necessary  to  return 
him  to  his  mother,  who  soothed  him  with  the 
wonderful  rhyme  of  "Are  koko,  J  a  re  koko!" 
which  says; 

"Oh,  crow !    Go  crow !    Baby's  sleeping  sound, 
And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle,  only  a  penny 

a  pound — 
Only  a  penny  a  pound,  Baba. — only  a  penny  a  pound." 


OF  CLERGY  245 

Reassured  many  times  as  to  the  price  of 
those  plums,  Tota  cuddled  himself  down  to 
sleep.  The  two  sleek  white  well-bullocks  in 
the  courtyard  were  steadily  chewing  the  cud 
of  their  evening  meal;  old  Pir  Khan  squatted 
at  the  head  of  Holden's  horse,  his  police  sabre 
across  his  knees,  pulling  drowsily  at  a  big 
water-pipe  that  croaked  like  a  bull-frog  in  a 
pond.  Ameera's  mother  sat  spinning  in  the 
lower  veranda,  and  the  wooden  gate  was  shut 
and  barred.  The  music  of  a  marriage  pro- 
cession came  to  the  roof  above  the  gentle  hum 
of  the  city,  and  a  string  of  flying-foxes  crossed 
the  face  of  the  low  moon. 

"I  have  prayed,"  said  Ameera,  after  a  long 
pause,  with  her  chin  in  her  hand — "I  have 
prayed  for  two  things.  First,  that  I  may  die 
in  thy  stead,  if  thy  death  is  demanded;  and  in 
the  second,  that  I  may  die  in  the  place  of  the 
child.  I  have  prayed  to  the  prophet  and  to 
Beebee  Miriam.1  Thinkest  thou  either  will 
hear?" 

"From  thy  lips  who  would  not  hear  the 
lightest  word?" 

"I  asked  for  straight  talk,  and  thou  hast 
given  me  sweet  talk.  Will  my  prayers  be 
heard?" 

1The  Virgin  Mary. 


246  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

"How  can  I  say?    God  is  very  good." 

"Of  that  I  am  not  sure.  Listen  now. 
When  I  die  or  the  child  dies,  what  is  thy  fate? 
Living,  thou  wilt  return  to  the  bold  white 
mem-log,  for  kind  calls  to  kind." 

"Not  always." 

"With  a  woman,  no.  With  a  man  it  is 
otherwise.  Thou  wilt  in  this  life,  later  on,  go 
back  to  thine  own  folk.  That  I  could  almost 
endure,  for  I  should  be  dead.  But  in  thy  very 
death  thou  wilt  be  taken  away  to  a  strange 
place  and  a  paradise  that  I  do  not  know." 

"Will  it  be  paradise?" 

"Surely;  for  what  God  would  harm  thee? 
But  we  two — I  and  the  child — shall  be  else- 
where, and  we  cannot  come  to  thee,  nor  canst 
thou  come  to  us.  In  the  old  days,  before  the 
child  was  born,  I  did  not  think  of  these  things ; 
but  now  I  think  of  them  perpetually.  It  is 
very  hard  talk." 

"It  will  fall  as  it  will  fall.  To-morrow  we 
do  not  know,  but  to-day  and  love  we  know 
well.     Surely  we  are  happy  now." 

"So  happy  that  it  were  well  to  make  our 
happiness  assured.  And  thy  Beebe  Miriam 
should  listen  to  me;  for  she  is  also  a  woman. 
But  then  she  would  envy  me — It  is  not  seemly 
for  men  to  worship  a  woman." 


OF  CLERGY  247 

Holden  laughed  aloud  at  Ameera's  little 
spasm  of  jealousy. 

"Is  it  not  seemly?  Why  didst  thou  not 
turn  me  from  worship  of  thee,  then?" 

"Thou  a  worshipper!  And  of  me!  My 
king,  for  all  thy  sweet  words,  well  I  know 
that  I  am  thy  servant  and  thy  slave,  and  the 
dust  under  thy  feet.  And  I  would  not  have  it 
otherwise.     See !" 

Before  Holden  could  prevent  her  she  stooped 
forward  and  touched  his  feet ;  recovering  her- 
self with  a  little  laugh,  she  hugged  Tota  closer 
to  her  bosom.     Then,  almost  savagely: 

"Is  it  true  that  the  bold  white  mem-log  live 
for  three  times  the  length  of  my  life?  Is  it 
true  that  they  make  their  marriages  not  before 
they  are  old  women  ?" 

"They  marry  as  do  others* — when  they  are 
women." 

"That  I  know,  but  they  wed  when  they  are 
twenty-five.     Is  that  true?" 

"That  is  true." 

"Ya  illah!  At  twenty-five!  Who  would 
of  his  own  will  take  a  wife  even  of  eighteen? 
She  is  a  woman- — aging  every  hour.  Twenty- 
five!  I  shall  be  an  old  woman  at  that  age, 
and — Those  mem-log  remain  young  forever. 
How  I  hate  them!" 


248  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

"What  have  they  to  do  with  us?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  I  know  only  that  there  may 
now  be  alive  on  this  earth  a  woman  ten  years 
older  than  I  who  may  come  to  thee  and  take 
thy  love  ten  years  after  I  am  an  old  woman, 
grey-headed  and  the  nurse  of  Tota's  son. 
That  is  unjust  and  evil.  They  should  die 
too." 

"Now,  for  all  thy  years  thou  art  a  child, 
and  shalt  be  picked  up  and  carried  down  the 
staircase." 

"Tota!  Have  a  care  for  Tota,  my  lord! 
Thou,  at  least,  art  as  foolish  as  any  babe!" 
Ameera  tucked  Tota  out  of  harm's  way  in 
the  hollow  in  her  neck,  and  was  carried  down- 
stairs, laughing,  in  Holden's  arms,  while  Tota 
opened  his  eyes  and  smiled,  after  the  manner 
of  the  lesser  angels. 

He  was  a  silent  infant,  and  almost  before 
Holden  could  realize  that  he  was  in  the  world, 
developed  into  a  small  gold-colored  godling 
and  unquestioned  despot  of  the  house  over- 
looking the  city.  Those  were  months  of  ab- 
solute happiness  to  Holden  and  Ameera — hap- 
piness withdrawn  from  the  world,  shut  in  be- 
hind the  wooden  gate  that  Pir  Khan  guarded. 
By  day  Holden  did  his  work,  with  an  immense 
pity  for  such  as  were  not  so  fortunate  as  him- 


OF  CLERGY  249 

self,  and  a  ympathy  for  small  children  that 
amazed  and  amused  many  mothers  at  the  little 
station  gatherings.  At  nightfall  he  returned 
to  Ameera  —  Ameera  full  of  the  wondrous 
doings  of  Tota ;  how  he  had  been  seen  to  clap 
his  hands  together  and  move  his  fingers  with 
intention  and  purpose,  which  was  manifestly  a 
miracle;  how,  later,  he  had  of  his  own  initia- 
tive crawled  out  of  his  low  bedstead  on  to  the 
floor,  and  swayed  on  both  feet  for  the  space 
of  three  breaths.  "And  they  were  long 
breaths,  for  my  heart  stood  still  with  delight," 
said  Ameera. 

Then  he  took  the  beasts  into  his  councils — 
the  well-bullocks,  the  little  grey  squirrels,  the 
mongoose  that  lived  in  a  hole  near  the  well, 
and  especially  Mian  Mittu,  the  parrot,  whose 
tail  he  grievously  pulled,  and  Mian  Mittu 
screamed  till  Ameera  and  Holden  arrived. 

"Oh,  villain!  Child  of  strength!  This  is 
to  thy  brother  on  the  house-top!  Tobah, 
tobah!  Fy!  fy!  But  I  know  a  charm  to  make 
him  wise  as  Suleiman  and  Aflatoun.1  Now 
look,',  said  Ameera.  She  drew  from  an  em- 
broidered bag  a  handful  of  almonds.  "See, 
we  count  seven,  in  the  name  of  God!"  She 
placed  Mian  Mittu,  very  angry  and  rumpled, 

1  Solomon  and  Plato. 


250  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

on  the  top  of  his  cage,  and,  seating  herself  be- 
tween the  babe  and  the  bird,  cracked  and 
peeled  an  almond  less  white  than  her  teeth. 
"This  is  a  true  charm,  my  life;  and  do  not 
laugh.  See!  I  give  the  parrot  one  half  and 
Tota  the  other."  Mian  Mittu,  with  careful 
beak,  took  his  share  from  between  Ameera's 
lips,  and  she  kissed  the  other  half  into  the 
mouth  of  the  child,  who  eat  it  slowly,  with 
wondering  eyes.  "This  I  will  do  each  day  of 
seven  and  without  doubt  he  who  is  ours  will 
be  a  bold  speaker  and  wise.  Eh,  Tota,  what 
wilt  thou  be  when  thou  art  a  man  and  I  am 
grey-headed?"  Tota  tucked  his  fat  legs  into 
adorable  creases.  He  could  crawl,  but  he  was 
not  going  to  waste  the  spring  of  his  youth  in 
idle  speech.  He  wanted  Mian  Mittu's  tail  to 
tweak. 

When  he  was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  a 
silver  belt — which,  with  a  magic  square  en- 
graved on  silver  and  hung  round  his  neck, 
made  up  the  greater  part  of  his  clothing — he 
staggered  on  a  perilous  journey  down  the 
garden  to  Pir  Khan,  and  proffered  him  all  his 
jewels  in  exchange  for  one  little  ride  on  Hold- 
en's  horse.  He  had  seen  his  mother's  mother 
chaffering  with  peddlers  in  the  veranda.  Pir 
Khan  wept,  set  the  untried  feet  on  his  own 


OF  CLERGY  25 1 

grey  head  in  sign  of  fealty,  and  brought  the 
bold  adventurer  to  his  mother's  arms,  vowing 
that  Tota  would  be  a  leader  of  men  ere  his 
beard  was  grown. 

One  hot  evening,  while  he  sat  on  the  roof 
between  his  father  and  mother,  watching  the 
never-ending  warfare  of  the  kites  that  the 
city  boys  flew,  he  demanded  a  kite  of  his  own, 
with  Pir  Khan  to  fly  it,  because  he  had  a  fear 
of  dealing  with  anything  larger  than  himself ; 
and  when  Holden  called  him  a  "spark"  he  rose 
to  his  feet  and  answered  slowly,  in  defence  of 
his  new-found  individuality:  "Hum  'park 
nahin  hai.  Hum  admi  hai"  (I  am  no  spark, 
but  a  man.) 

The  protest  made  Holden  choke,  and  devote 
himself  very  seriously  to  a  consideration  of 
Tota's  future. 

He  need  hardly  have  taken  the  trouble.  The 
delight  of  that  life  was  too  perfect  to  endure. 
Therefore  it  was  taken  away,  as  many  things 
are  taken  away  in  India,  suddenly  and  with- 
out warning.  The  little  lord  of  the  house,  as 
Pir  Khan  called  him,  grew  sorrowful  and 
complained  of  pains,  who  had  never  known 
the  meaning  of  pain.  Ameera,  wild  with  ter- 
ror, watched  him  through  the  night,  and  in  the 
'dawning  of  the  second  day  the  life  was  shaken 


252  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

out  of  him  by  fever — the  seasonal  autumn 
fever.  It  seemed  altogether  impossible  that 
he  could  die,  and  neither  Ameera  nor  Holden 
at  first  believed  the  evidence  of  the  body  on 
the  bedstead.  Then  Ameera  beat  her  head 
against  the  wall,  and  would  have  flung  herself 
down  the  well  in  the  garden  had  Holden  not 
restrained  her  by  main  force. 

One  mercy  only  was  granted  to  Holden.  He 
rode  to  his  office  in  broad  daylight,  and  found 
waiting  him  an  unusually  heavy  mail  that  de- 
manded concentrated  attention  and  hard  work. 
He  was  not,  however,  alive  to  this  kindness  of 
the  gods. 


Ill 

The  first  shock  of  a  bullet  is  no  more  than  a 
brisk  pinch.  The  wrecked  body  does  not  send 
in  its  protest  to  the  soul  till  ten  or  fifteen  sec- 
onds later.  Then  comes  thirst,  throbbing, 
and  agony,  and  a  ridiculous  amount  of  scream- 
ing. Holden  realized  his  pain  slowly,  exactly 
as  he  had  realized  his  happiness,  and  with  the 
same  imperious  necessity  for  hiding  all  trace 
of  it.  In  the  begninning  he  only  felt  that 
there  had  been  a  loss,  and  that  Ameera  needed 
comforting  where  she  sat  with  her  head  on 


OF  CLERGY  253 

her  knees,  shivering  as  Mian  Mittu,  from  the 
house-top,  called  "Total  Total  Total"  Later 
all  his  world  and  the  daily  life  of  it  rose  up  to 
hurt  him.  It  was  an  outrage  that  any  one  of 
the  children  at  the  band-stand  in  the  evening 
should  be  alive  and  clamorous  when  his  own 
child  lay  dead.  It  was  more  than  mere  pain 
when  one  of  them  touched  him,  and  stories 
told  by  overfond  fathers  of  their  children's 
latest  performances  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He 
could  not  declare  his  pain.  He  had  neither 
help,  comfort,  nor  sympathy,  and  Ameera,  at 
the  end  of  each  weary  day,  would  lead  him 
through  the  hell  of  self -questioning  reproach 
which  is  reserved  for  those  who  have  lost  a 
child,  and  believe  that  with  a  little — just  a 
little — more  care  it  might  have  been  saved. 
There  are  not  many  hells  worse  than  this,  but 
he  knows  one  who  has  sat  down  temporarily 
to  consider  whether  he  is  or  is  not  responsible 
for  the  death  of  his  wife. 

"Perhaps,"  Ameera  would  say,  "I  did  not 
take  sufficient  heed.  Did  I,  or  did  I  not  ?  The 
sun  on  the  roof  that  day  when  he  played  so 
long  alone,  and  I  was — ahi!  braiding  my  hair 
— it  may  be  that  the  sun  then  bred  the  fever. 
If  I  had  warned  him  from  the  sun  he  might 
have  lived.     But,  oh,  my  life,  say  that  I  am 


254  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

guiltless!  Thou  knowest  that  I  loved  him  as 
I  loved  thee!  Say  that  there  is  no  blame  on 
me,  or  I  shall  die — I  shall  die !" 

"There  is  no  blame.  Before  God,  none. 
It  was  written,  and  how  could  we  do  aught  to 
save?  What  has  been,  has  been.  Let  it  go, 
beloved.,, 

"He  was  all  my  heart  to  me.  How  can  I  let 
the  thougt  go  when  my  arm  tells  me  every 
night  thai"  Tie  is  not  here?  A  hi!  ahi!  Oh, 
Tota,  come  back  to  me — come  back  again,  and 
let  us  be  all  together  as  it  was  before !" 

"Peace!  peace!  For  thine  own  sake,  and 
for  mine  also,  if  thou  lovest  me,  rest." 

"By  this  I  know  thou  dost  not  care;  and 
how  shouldst  thou?  The  white  men  have 
hearts  of  stone  and  souls  of  iron.  Oh,  that  I 
had  married  a  man  of  mine  own  people — 
though  he  beat  me — and  had  never  eaten  the 
bread  of  an  alien!" 

"Am  I  an  alien,  mother  of  my  son?" 

"What  else,  sahib?  .  .  .  Oh,  forgive 
me — forgive!  The  death  has  driven  me  mad. 
Thou  art  the  light  of  my  heart,  and  the  light 
of  my  eyes,  and  the  breath  of  my  life,  and — 
and  I  have  put  thee  from  me,  though  it  was 
but  for  a  moment.  If  thou  goest  away,  to 
whom  shall  I  look   for  help?       Do  not  be 


OF  CLERGY  255 

angry.  Indeed,  it  was  the  pain  that  spoke, 
and  not  thy  slave." 

"I  know — I  know.  We  be  two  who  were 
three.  The  greater  need,  therefore,  that  we 
should  be  one." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  roof,  as  of  custom. 
The  night  was  a  warm  one  in  early  spring,  and 
sheet-lightning  was  dancing  on  the  horizon  to 
a  broken  tune  played  by  far-off  thunder. 
Ameera  settled  herself  in  Holden's  arms. 

"The  dry  earth  is  lowing  like  a  cow  for  the 
rain,  and  I — I  am  afraid.  It  was  not  like 
this  when  we  counted  the  stars.  But  thou 
lovest  me  as  much  as  before,  though  a  bond 
is  taken  away  ?     Answer." 

"I  love  more,  because  a  new  bond  has  come 
out  of  the  sorrow  that  we  have  eaten  together, 
and  that  thou  knowest." 

"Yea,  I  know,"  said  Ameera,  in  a  very  small 
whisper.  "But  it  is  good  to  hear  thee  say  so, 
my  life,  who  art  so  strong  to  help.  I  will 
be  a  child  no  more,  but  a  woman  and  an  aid  to 
thee.  Listen.  Give  me  my  sitar,  and  I  will 
sing  bravely." 

She  took  the  light  silver-studded  sitar,  and 
began  a  song  of  the  great  hero  Raja  Rasalu. 
The  hand  failed  on  the  strings,  the  tune  halted, 
checked,  and  at  a  low  note  turned  off  to  the 


256  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

poor  little  nursery  rhyme  about  the  wicked 
crow: 

"  'And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle — 
Only  a  penny  a  pound, 
Only  a  penny  a  pound,  Baba — only'  " — 

Then  came  the  tears  and  the  piteous  rebel- 
lion against  fate,  till  she  slept,  moaning  a  little 
in  her  sleep,  with  the  right  arm  thrown  clear 
of  the  body,  as  though  it  protected  something 
that  was  not  there. 

It  was  after  this  night  that  life  became  a 
little  easier  for  Holden.  The  ever-present 
pain  of  loss  drove  him  into  his  work,  and  the 
work  repaid  him  by  filling  up  his  mind  for 
eight  or  nine  hours  a  day.  Ameera  sat  alone 
in  the  house  and  brooded,  but  grew  happier 
when  she  understood  that  Holden  was  more 
at  ease,  according  to  the  custom  of  women. 
They  touched  happiness  again,  but  this  time 
with  caution. 

"It  was  because  we  loved  Tota  that  he  died. 
The  jealousy  of  God  was  upon  us,"  said 
Ameera.  "I  have  hung  up  a  large  black  jar 
before  our  window  to  turn  the  Evil  Eye 
from  us,  and  we  must  make  no  protestations  of 
delight,  but  go  softly  underneath  the  stars, 
lest  God  find  us  out.  Is  that  not  good  talk, 
worthless  one?" 


OF  CLERGY  257 

She  had  shifted  the  accent  of  the  word  that 
means  "beloved,"  in  proof  of  the  sincerity  of 
her  purpose.  But  the  kiss  that  followed  the 
new  christening  was  a  thing  that  any  deity 
might  have  envied.  They  went  about  hence- 
forth saying:  "It  is  naught — it  is  naught," 
and  hoping  that  all  the  powers  heard. 

The  powers  were  busy  on  other  things. 
They  had  allowed  thirty  million  people  four 
years  of  plenty,  wherein  men  fed  well  and  the 
crops  were  certain  and  the  birth-rate  rose 
every  year ;  the  districts  reported  a  purely  agri- 
cultural population  varying  from  nine  hun- 
dred to  two  thousand  to  the  square  mile  of  the 
overburdened  earth.  It  was  time  to  make 
room.  And  the  Member  of  the  Lower  Toot- 
ing, wandering  about  India  in  top-hat  and 
frock-coat,  talked  largely  of  the  benefits  of 
British  rule,  and  suggested  as  the  one  thing 
needful  the  establishment  of  duly  qualified 
electoral  system  and  a  general  bestowal  of  the 
franchise.  His  long-suffering  hosts  smiled 
and  made  him  welcome,  and  when  he  paused 
to  admire,  with  pretty  picked  words,  the  blos- 
som of  the  blood-red  dhak-tree,  that  had  flow- 
ered untimely  for  a  sign  of  the  sickness  that 
was  coming,  they  smiled  more  than  ever. 

It  was  the  Deputy  Commissioner  of  Kot- 


258  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

Kumharsen,  staying  at  the  club  for  a  day,  who 
lightly  told  a  tale  that  made  Holden's  blood 
run  cold  as  he  overheard  the  end. 

"He  won't  bother  any  one  any  more.  Never 
saw  a  man  so  astonished  in  my  life.  By 
Jove!  I  thought  he  meant  to  ask  a  question 
in  the  House  about  it.  Fellow-passenger  in 
his  ship — dined  next  him — bowled  over  by 
cholera,  and  died  in  eighteen  hours.  You 
needn't  laugh,  you  fellows.  The  Member  for 
Lower  Tooting  is  awfully  angry  about  it;  but 
he's  more  scared.  I  think  he's  going  to  take 
his  enlightened  self  out  of  India." 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  if  he  were  knocked 
over.  It  might  keep  a  few  vestrymen  of  his 
kidney  to  their  parish.  But  what's  this  about 
cholera?  It's  full  early  for  anything  of  that 
kind,"  said  a  warden  of  an  unprofitable  salt- 
lick. 

"Dunno,"  said  the  deputy  commissioner,  re- 
flectively. "We've  got  locusts  with  us. 
There's  sporadic  cholera  all  along  the  north — 
at  least,  we're  calling  it  sporadic  for  decency's 
sake.  The  spring  crops  are  short  in  five  dis- 
tricts, and  nobody  seems  to  know  where  the 
winter  rains  are.  It's  nearly  March  now.  I 
don't  want  to  scare  anybody,  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  Nature's  going  to  audit  her  accounts 
with  a  big  red  pencil  tjiis  summer." 


OF  CLERGY  259 

"Just  when  I  wanted  to  take  leave,  too," 
said  a  voice  across  the  room. 

"There  won't  be  much  leave  this  year,  but 
there  ought  to  be  a  great  deal  of  promotion. 
I've  come  in  to  persuade  the  government  to 
put  my  pet  canal  on  the  list  of  famine-relief 
works.  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  good.  I 
shall  get  that  canal  finished  at  last." 

"Is  it  the  old  programme,  then,"  said  Hold- 
en — "famine,  fever,  and  cholera  ?" 

"Oh,  no!  Only  local  scarcity  and  an  un- 
usual prevalence  of  seasonal  sickness.  You'll 
find  it  all  in  the  reports  if  you  live  till  next 
year.  You're  a  lucky  chap.  You  haven't  got 
a  wife  to  put  you  out  of  harm's  way.  The 
hill-stations  ought  to  be  full  of  women  this 
year." 

"I  think  you're  inclined  to  exaggerate  the 
talk  in  the  bazaars,"  said  a  young  civilian  in 
the  secretariat.     "Now,   I  have  observed" — 

"I  dare  say  you  have,"  said  the  deputy  com- 
missioner, "but  you've  a  great  deal  more  to 
observe,  my  son.  In  the  meantime,  I  wish  to 
observe  to  you" —  And  he  drew  him  aside  to 
discuss  the  construction  of  the  canal  that  was 
so  dear  to  his  heart. 

Holden  went  to  his  bungalow,  and  began  to 
understand  that  he  was  not  alone  in  the  world, 


260  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

and  also  that  he  was  afraid  for  the  sake  of  an- 
other, which  is  the  most  soul-satisfying  fear 
known  to  man. 

Two  months  later,  as  the  deputy  had  fore- 
told, Nature  began  to  audit  her  accounts  with 
a  red  pencil.  On  the  heels  of  the  spring  reap- 
ings  came  a  cry  for  bread,  and  the  government, 
which  had  decreed  that  no  man  should  die  of 
want,  sent  wheat.  Then  came  the  cholera 
from  all  four  quarters  of  the  compass.  It 
struck  a  pilgrim  gathering  of  half  a  million 
at  a  sacred  shrine.  Many  died  at  the  feet  of 
their  god,  the  others  broke  and  ran  over  the 
face  of  the  land,  carrying  the  pestilence  with 
them.  It  smote  a  walled  city  and  killed  two 
hundred  a  day.  The  people  crowded  the 
trains,  hanging  on  to  the  footboards  and 
squatting  on  the  roofs  of  the  carriages;  and 
the  cholera  followed  them,  for  at  each  station 
they  dragged  out  the  dead  and  the  dying  on 
the  platforms  reeking  of  lime-wash  and  car- 
bolic acid.  They  died  by  the  roadside,  and 
the  horses  of  the  Englishmen  shied  at  the 
corpses  in  the  grass.  The  rains  did  not  come, 
and  the  earth  turned  to  iron  lest  man  should 
escape  by  hiding  in  her.  The  English  sent 
their  wives  away  to  the  Hills,  and  went  about 
their  work,  coming  forward  as  they  were  bid- 


OF  CLERGY  261 

den  to  fill  the  gaps  in  the  fighting-  line.  Hold- 
en,  sick  with  fear  of  losing  his  chiefest  treas- 
ure on  earth,  had  done  his  best  to  persuade 
■Ameera,  to  go  away  with  her  mother  to  the 
Himalayas. 

"Why  should  I  go?"  said  she  one  evening 
on  the  roof. 

"There  is  sickness,  and  the  people  are  dy- 
ing, and  all  the  white  mem-log  have  gone." 

"All  of  them?" 

"All — unless,  perhaps,  there  remain  some 
old  scald-head  who  vexes  her  husband's 
heart  by  running  risk  of  death." 

"Nay;  who  stays  is  my  sister,  and  thou 
must  not  abuse  her,  for  I  will  be  a  scald-head 
too.  I  am  glad  all  the  bold  white  mem-log 
are  gone." 

"Do  I  speak  to  a  woman  or  a  babe  ?  Go  to 
the  Hills,  and  I  will  see  to  it  that  thou  goest 
like  a  queen's  daughter.  Think,  child!  In  a 
red-lacquered  bullock-cart,  veiled  and  curtain- 
ed, with  brass  peacocks  upon  the  pole  and  red- 
cloth  hangings.  I  will  send  two  orderlies  for 
guard,  and" — 

"Peace!  Thou  art  the  babe  in  speaking 
thus.  What  use  are  those  toys  to  me?  He 
would  have  patted  the  bullocks  and  played  with 
the  housings.       For  his  sake,  perhaps — thou 


262  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

hast  made  me  very  English — I  might  have 
gone.  Now  I  will  not.  Let  the  man-log 
run." 

"Their   husbands   are   sending  them,   be- 
loved." 

"Very  good  talk.  Since  when  hast  thou 
been  my  husband  to  tell  me  what  to  do?  I 
have  but  borne  thee  a  son.  Thou  art  only  all 
the  desire  of  my  soul  to  me.  How  shall  I  de- 
part when  I  know  that  if  evil  befell  thee  by 
the  breadth  of  so  much  as  my  littlest  finger- 
nail— is  that  not  small? — I  should  be  aware 
of  it  though  I  were  in  Paradise?  And  here, 
this  summer  thou  mayest  die — ai,  Janee,  die! 
&nd  in  dying  they  might  call  to  tend  thee  a 
white  woman,  and  she  would  rob  me  in  the 
last  of  thy  love." 

"But  love  is  not  born  in  a  moment,  or  on  a 
deathbed." 

"What  dost  thou  know  of  love,  stone-heart? 
She  would  take  thy  thanks  at  least,  and,  by 
God  and  the  Prophet  and  Beebee  Miriam,  the 
mother  of  thy  Prophet,  that  I  will  never  en- 
dure. My  lord  and  my  love,  let  there  be  no, 
more  foolish  talk  of  going  away.  Where  thou 
art,  I  am.  It  is  enough."  She  put  an  arm 
round  his  neck  and  a  hand  on  his  mouth. 

There  are  not  many  happinesses  so  com- 


OF  CLERGY  263 

plete  as  those  that  are  snatched  under  the 
shadow  of  the  sword.  They  sat  together  and 
laughed,  calling  each  other  openly  by  every 
pet  name  that  could  move  the  wrath  of  the 
gods.  The  city  below  them  was  locked  up  in 
its  own  torments.  Sulphur-fires  blazed  in  the 
streets;  the  conches  in  the  Hindoo  temples 
screamed  and  bellowed,  for  the  gods  were  in- 
attentive in  those  days.  There  was  a  service 
in  the  great  Mohammedan  shrine,  and  the  call 
to  prayer  from  the  minarets  was  almost  un- 
ceasing. They  heard  the  wailing  in  the 
houses  of  the  dead,  and  once  the  shriek  of  a 
mother  who  had  lost  a  child  and  was  calling 
for  its  return.  In  the  grey  dawn  they  saw  the 
dead  borne  out  through  the  city  gates,  each 
litter  with  its  own  little  knot  of  mourners. 
Wherefore  they  kissed  each  other  and 
shivered. 

It  was  a  red  and  heavy  audit,  for  the  land 
was  very  sick  and  needed  a  little  breathing- 
space  ere  the  torrent  of  cheap  life  should  flood 
it  anew.  The  children  of  immature  fathers 
and  undeveloped  mothers  made  no  resistance. 
They  were  cowed  and  sat  still,  waiting  till 
the  sword  should  be  sheathed  in  November,  if 
it  were  so  willed.  There  were  gaps  among 
the  English,  but  the  gaps  were  filled.       The 


264  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

work  of  superintending  famine  relief,  choiera- 
sheds,  medicine  distribution,  and  what  little 
sanitation  was  possible,  went  forward  because 
it  was  ordered. 

Holden  had  been  told  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness  to  move  to  replace  the  next  man 
who  should  fall.  There  were  twelve  hours  in 
each  day  when  he  could  not  see  Ameera,  and 
she  might  die  in  three.  He  was  considering 
what  his  pain  would  be  if  he  could  not  see  her 
for  three  months,  or  if  she  died  out  of  his 
sight.  He  was  absolutely  certain  that  her 
death  would  be  demanded — so  certain  that, 
when  he  looked  up  from  the  telegram  and  saw 
Pir  Khan  breathless  in  the  doorway,  he 
laughed  aloud,  "And?" — said  he. 

"When  there  is  a  cry  in  the  night  and  the 
spirit  flutters  into  the  throat,  who  has  a 
charm  that  will  restore?  Come  swiftly, 
heaven  born.     It  is  the  black  cholera." 

Holden  galloped  to  his  home.  The  sky 
was  heavy  with  clouds,  for  the  long-deferred 
rains  were  at  hand,  and  the  heat  was  stifling. 
Ameera's  mother  met  him  in  the  court-yard, 
whimpering:  "She  is  dying.  She  is  nursing 
herself  into  death.  She  is  all  but  dead.  What 
shall  I  do,  sahib?" 

Ameera  was  lying  in  the  room  in  which 


OF  CLERGY  265 

Tota  had  been  born.  She  made  no  sign  when 
Holden  entered,  because  the  human  soul  is  a 
very  lonely  thing,  and  when  it  is  getting  ready 
to  go  away  hides  itself  in  a  misty  border-land 
where  the  living  may  not  follow.  The  black 
cholera  does  its  work  quietly  and  without  ex- 
planation. Ameera  was  being  thrust  out  of 
life  as  though  the  Angel  of  Death  had 
himself  put  his  hand  upon  her.  The  quick 
breathing  seemed  to  show  that  she  was  either 
afraid  or  in  pain,  but  neither  eyes  nor  mouth 
gave  any  answer  to  Holden's  kisses.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  said  or  done.  Holden  could 
only  wait  and  suffer.  The  first  drops  of  the 
rain  began  to  fall  on  the  roof,  and  he  could 
hear  shouts  of  joy  in  the  parched  city. 

The  soul  came  back  a  little  and  the  lips 
moved.  Holden  bent  down  to  listen.  "Keep 
nothing  of  mine,"  said  Ameera.  "Take  no 
hair  from  my  head.  She  would  make  thee 
burn  it  later  on.  That  flame  I  should  feel. 
Lower!  Stoop  lower!  Remember  only  that 
I  was  thine  and  bore  thee  a  son.  Thoup-h  thou 
wed  a  white  woman  tomorrow,  the  pleasure  of 
taking  in  thy  arms  thy  first  son  is  taken  from 
thee  forever.  Remember  me  when  thy  son 
is  born — the  one  that  shall  carry  thy  name  be- 
fore all  men.     His  misfortunes  be  on  my  head, 


266  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

I  bear  witness — I  bear  witness" — the  lips 
were  forming  the  words  on  his  ear — "that 
there  is  no  God  but — thee,  beloved." 

Then  she  died.  Holden  sat  still,  and 
thought  of  any  kind  was  taken  from  him  till 
he  heard  Ameera's  mother  lift  the  curtain. 

"Is  she  dead,  sahib?" 

"She  is  dead." 

"Then  I  will  mourn,  and  afterward  take  an 
inventory  of  the  furniture  in  this  house;  for 
that  will  be  mine.  The  sahib  does  not  mean 
to  resume  it.  It  is  so  little,  so  very  little,  sahib, 
and  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  would  like  to  lie 
softly." 

"For  the  mercy  of  God,  be  silent  awhile! 
Go  out  and  mourn  where  I  cannot  hear." 

"Sahib,  she  will  be  buried  in  four  hours." 

"I  know  the  custom.  I  shall  go  ere  she  is 
taken  away.  That  matter  is  in  thy  hands. 
Look  to  it  that  the  bed — on  which — on  which 
— she  lies" — 

"Aha!  That  beautiful  red-lacquered  bed. 
I  have  long  desired" — 

— "That  the  bed  is  left  here  untouched  for 
my  disposal.  All  else  in  the  house  is  thine. 
Hire  a  cart,  take  everything,  go  hence,  and 
before  sunrise  let  there  be  nothing  in  this 
house  but  that  which  I  have  ordered  thee  to 
respect." 


OF  CLERGY  267 

"I  am  an  old  woman.  I  would  stay  at  least 
for  the  days  of  mourning",  and  the  rains  have 
just  broken.     Whither  shall  I  go?" 

"What  is  that  to  me?"  My  order  is  that 
there  is  a  going-.  The  house-gear  is  worth  a 
thousand  rupees,  and  my  orderly  shall  bring 
thee  a  hundred  rupees  to-night." 

"That  is  very  little.  Think  of  the  cart- 
hire." 

"It  shall  be  nothing  unless  thou  goest,  and 
with  speed.  Oh,  woman,  get  hence,  and  leave 
me  to  my  dead !" 

The  mother  shuffled  down  the  staircase, 
and  in  her  anxiety  to  take  stock  of  the  house- 
fittings  forgot  to  mourn.  Holden  stayed  by 
Ameera's  side,  and  the  rain  roared  on  the 
roof.  He  could  not  think  connectedly  by  rea- 
son of  the  noise,  though  he  made  many  at- 
tempts to  do  so.  Then  four  sheeted  ghosts 
glided  dripping  into  the  room  and  stared  at 
him  through  their  veils.  They  were  the 
washers  of  the  dead.  Holden  left  the  room 
and  went  out  to  his  horse.  He  had  come  in  a 
dead,  stifling  calm,  through  ankle-deep  dust. 
He  found  the  court-yard  a  rain-lashed  pond 
alive  with  frogs,  a  torrent  of  yellow  water  ran 
under  the  gate,  and  a  roaring  wind  drove  the 
bolts  of  the  rain  like  buckshot  against  the 
mud  walls.     Pir  Khan  was  shivering  in  his 


*68  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

little  hut  by  the  gate,  and  the  horse  was  stamp- 
ing uneasily  in  the  water. 

"I  have  been  told  the  sahib's  order,"  said 
he.  "It  is  well.  This  house  is  now  desolate. 
I'll  go  also,  for  my  monkey  face  would  be  a 
reminder  of  that  which  has  been.  Concern- 
ing the  bed,  I  will  bring  that  to  thy  house 
yonder  in  the  morning.  But  remember,  sahib, 
it  will  be  to  thee  as  a  knife  turned  in  a  green 
wound.  I  go  upon  a  pilgrimage  and  I  will 
take  no  money.  I  have  grown  fat  in  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Presence,  whose  sorrow  is  my 
sorrow.     For  the  last  time  I  hold  his  stirrup." 

He  touched  Holden's  foot  with  both  hands, 
and  the  horse  sprung  out  into  the  road,  where 
the  creaking  bamboos  were  whipping  the  sky 
and  all  the  frogs  were  chuckling.  Holden 
could  not  see  for  the  rain  in  his  face.  He 
put  his  hands  before  his  eyes  and  muttered: 
"Oh,  you  brute!     You  utter  brute!" 

The  news  of  his  trouble  was  already  in  his 
bungalow.  He  read  the  knowledge  in  his 
butler's  eyes  when  Ahmed  Khan  brought  in 
food,  and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  master's  shoulder,  say- 
ing: "Eat,  sahib,  eat.  Meat  is  good  against 
sorrow.  I  also  have  known.  Moreover,  the 
shadows  come  and  go,  sahib.  The  shadows 
come  and  go.     These  be  curried  eggs." 


OF  CLERGY  269 

Holden  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  The 
heavens  sent  down  eight  inches  of  rain  in  that 
night  and  scoured  the  earth  clean.  The 
waters  tore  down  walls,  broke  roads,  and 
washed  open  the  shallow  graves  in  the  Mo- 
hammedan burying-ground.  All  next  day  it 
rained,  and  Holden  sat  still  in  his  house  con- 
sidering his  sorrow.  On  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  he  received  a  telegram  which  said 
only:  "Ricketts,  Myndonie.  Dying.  Holden. 
Relieve.  Immediate."  Then  he  thought  that 
before  he  departed  he  would  look  at  the  house 
wherein  he  had  been  master  and  lord.  There 
was  a  break  in  the  weather.  The  rank  earth 
steamed  with  vapor,  and  Holden  was  vermil- 
ion from  head  to  heel  with  the  prickly-heat 
born  of  sultry  moisture. 

He  found  that  the  rains  had  torn  down  the 
mud-pillars  of  the  gateway,  and  the  heavy 
wooden  gate  that  had  guarded  his  life  hung 
drunkenly  from  one  hinge.  There  was  grass 
three  inches  high  in  the  court-yard;  Pir 
Khan's  lodge  was  empty,  and  the  sodden 
thatch  sagged  between  the  beams.  A  grey 
squirrel  was  in  possession  of  the  veranda,  as 
if  the  house  had  been  untenanted  for  thirty 
years  instead  of  three  days.  Ameera's 
mother  had  removed  everything  except  some 
mildewed  matting.     The  tick-tick  of  the  little 


270  WITHOUT  BENEFIT 

scorpions  as  they  hurried  across  the  floor  was 
the  only  sound  in  the  house.  Ameera's  room 
and  that  other  one  where  Tota  had  lived  were 
heavy  with  mildew,  and  the  narow  staircase 
leading  to  the  roof  was  streaked  and  stained 
with  rain-borne  mud.  Holden  saw  all  these 
things,  and  came  out  again  to  meet  in  the  road 
Durga  Dass,  his  k.  ldlord — portly,  affable, 
clothed  in  white  muslin,  and  driving  a  C- 
spring  buggy.  He  was  overlooking  his  prop- 
erty, to  see  how  the  roofs  withstood  the  stress 
of  the  first  rains. 

"I  have  heard,"  said  he,  "you  will  not  take 
this  place  any  more,  sahib?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"Perhaps  I  shall  let  it  again." 

"Then  I  will  keep  it  on  while  I  am  away." 

Durga  Dass  was  silent  for  some  time. 
"You  shall  not  take  it  on,  sahib,"  he  said. 
"When  I  was  a  young  man  I  also —  But  to- 
day I  am  a  member  of  the  municipality.  Ho! 
ho !  No.  When  the  birds  have  gone,  what 
need  to  keep  the  nest?  I  will  have  it  pulled 
down;  the  timber  will  sell  for  something  al- 
ways. It  shall  be  pulled  down,  and  the  munic- 
ipality shall  make  a  road  across,  as  they  de- 
sire, from  the  burning-ghat  to  the  city  wall. 
So  that  no  man  may  say  where  this  house 
stood." 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

Your  Gods  and  my  Gods — do  you  or  I  know  which  are 
the  stronger? — Native  Proverb. 

EAST  of  Suez,  some  hold,  the  direct  con- 
trol of  Providence  ceases;  Man  being 
there  handed  over  to  the  power  of  the  Gods 
and  Devils  of  Asia,  and  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land Providence  only  exercising  an  occasional 
and  modified  supervision  in  the  case  of  Eng- 
lishmen. 

This  theory  accounts  for  some  of  the  more 
unnecessary  horrors  of  life  in  India:  it  may 
be  stretched  to  explain  my  story. 

My  friend  Strickland  of  the  Police,  who 
knows  as  much  of  natives  of  India  as  is  good 
for  any  man,  can  bear  witness  to  the  facts  of 
the  case.  Dumoise,  our  doctor,  also  saw  what 
Strickland  and  I  saw.  The  inference  which 
he  drew  from  the  evidence  was  entirely  incor- 
rect. He  is  dead  now ;  he  died  in  a  rather  cu- 
rious manner,  which  has  been  elsewhere  de- 
scribed. 

When  Fleete  came  to  India  he  owned  a  little 

273 


274     THE  MAHK  OF  THE  BEAST 

money  and  some  land  in  the  Himalayas,  near 
a  place  called  Dharmsala.  Both  properties 
had  been  left  him  by  an  uncle,  and  he  came 
out  to  finance  them.  He  was  a  big,  heavy, 
genial,  and  inoffensive  man.  His  knowledge 
of  natives  was,  of  course,  limited,  and  he 
complained  of  the  difficulties  of  the  language. 
He  rode  in  from  his  place  in  the  hills  to 
spend  New  Year  in  the  station,  and  he  stayed 
with  Strickland.  On  New  Year's  Eve  there 
was  a  big  dinner  at  the  club,  and  the  night 
was  excusably  wet.  When  men  foregather 
from  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  Empire,  they 
have  a  right  to  be  riotous.  The  Frontier  had 
sent  down  a  contingent  o'  Catch-'em-Alive-O's 
who  had  not  seen  twenty  white  faces  for  a 
year,  and  were  used  to  ride  fifteen  miles  to 
dinner  at  the  next  Fort  at  the  risk  of  a  Khy- 
beree  bullet  where  their  drinks  should  lie. 
They  profited  by  their  new  security,  for  they 
tried  to  play  pool  with  a  curled-up  hedge-hog 
found  in  the  garden,  and  one  of  them  carried 
the  marker  round  the  room  in  his  tieth.  Half 
a  dozen  planters  had  come  in  from  the  south 
and  were  talking  "horse"  to  the  Biggest  Liar 
in  Asia,  who  was  trying  to  cap  all  their  stories 
at  once.  Everybody  was  there,  and  there  was 
a  general  closing  up  of  ranks  and  taking  stock 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     275 

of  our  losses  in  dead  or  disabled  that  had 
fallen  during  the  past  year.  It  was  a  very  wet 
night,  and  I  remember  that  we  sang  "Auld 
Lang  Syne"  with  our  feet  in  the  Polo  Cham- 
pionship Cup,  and  our  heads  among  the  stars, 
and  swore  that  we  were  all  dear  friends.  Then 
some  of  us  went  away  and  annexed  Burma, 
and  some  tried  to  open  up  the  Soudan  and  were 
opened  up  by  Fuzzies  in  that  cruel  scrub  out- 
side Suakim,  and  some  found  stars  and  med- 
als, and  some  were  married,  which  was  bad, 
and  some  did  other  things  which  were  worse, 
and  the  others  of  us  stayed  in  our  chains  and 
strove  to  make  money  on  insufficient  experi- 
ences. 

Fleete  began  the  night  with  sherry  and  bit- 
ters, drank  champagne  steadily  up  to  dessert, 
then  raw,  rasping  Capri  with  all  the  strength 
of  whisky,  took  Benedictine  with  his  coffee, 
four  or  five  whiskies  and  sodas  to  improve  his 
pool  strokes,  beer  and  bones  at  half-past  two, 
winding  up  with  old  brandy.  Consequently, 
when  he  came  out,  at  half -past  three  in  the 
morning  into  fourteen  degrees  of  frost,  he 
was  very  angry  with  his  horse  for  coughing, 
and  tried  to  leap-frog  into  the  saddle.  The 
horse  broke  away  and  went  to  his  stables;  so 
Strickland  and  I  formed  a  Guard  of  Dishonor 
£0  take  Fleete  home. 


276     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

Our  road  lay  through  the  bazaar,  close  to  a 
little  temple  of  Hanuman,  the  Monkey-god, 
who  is  a  leading  divinity  worthy  of  respect. 
All  gods  have  good  points,  just  as  have  all 
priests.  Personally,  I  attach  much  importance 
to  Hanuman,  and  am  kind  to  his  people — the 
great  grey  apes  of  the  hills.  One  never  knows 
when  one  may  want  a  friend. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  temple,  and  as  we 
passed,  we  could  hear  the  voices  of  men  chant- 
ing hymns.  In  a  native  temple,  the  priests  rise 
at  all  hours  of  the  night  to  do  honor  to  their 
god.  Before  we  could  stop  him,  Fleete  dashed 
up  the  steps,  patted  two  priests  on  the  back, 
and  was  gravely  grinding  the  ashes  of  his  ci- 
gar-butt into  the  forehead  of  the  red,  stone 
image  of  Hanuman.  Strickland  tried  to  drag 
him  out,  but  he  sat  down  and  said  solemnly : 

"Shee  that?  'Mark  of  the  B— beasht!  / 
made  it.     Ishn't  it  fine?" 

In  half  a  minute  the  temple  was  alive  and 
noisy,  and  Strickland,  who  knew  what  came  of 
polluting  gods,  said  that  things  might  occur. 
He,  by  virtue  of  his  official  position,  long  resi- 
dence in  the  country,  and  weakness  for  going 
among  the  natives,  was  known  to  the  priests 
and  he  felt  unhappy.  Fleete  sat  on  the  ground 
and  refused  to  move.  He  said  that  "good  old 
Hanuman"  made  a  very  soft  pillow. 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     277 

Then,  without  any  warning,  a  Silver  Man 
came  out  of  a  recess  behind  the  image  of  the 
god.  He  was  perfectly  naked  in  that  bitter, 
bitter  cold,  and  his  body  shone  like  frosted  sil- 
ver, for  he  was  what  the  Bible  calls  "a  leper 
as  white  as  snow."  Also  he  had  no  face,  be- 
cause he  was  a  leper  of  some  years'  standing, 
and  his  disease  was  heavy  upon  him.  We 
stooped  to  haul  Fleete  up,  and  the  temple  was 
filling  and  filling  with  folk  who  seemed  to 
spring  from  the  earth,  when  the  Silver  Man 
ran  in  under  our  arms,  making  a  noise  exactly 
like  the  mewing  of  an  otter,  caught  Fleete 
round  the  body  and  dropped  his  head  on 
Fleete's  breast  before  we  could  wrench  him 
away.  Then  he  retired  to  a  corner  and  sat 
mewing  while  the  crowd  blocked  all  the  doors. 

The  priests  were  very  angry  until  the  Sil- 
ver Man  touched  Fleete.  That  nuzzling 
seemed  to  sober  them. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes'  silence  one  of 
the  priests  came  to  Strickland  and  said,  in 
perfect  English,  "Take  your  friend  away. 
He  has  done  with  Hanuman,  but  Hanuman 
has  not  done  with  him."  The  crowd  gave 
room  and  we  carried  Fleete  into  the  road. 

Strickland  was  very  angry.  He  said  that 
we  might  all  three  have  been  knifed,  and  that 


278     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

Fleete  should  thank  his  stars  that  he  had  es« 
caped  without  injury. 

Fleete  thanked  no  one.  He  said  that  he 
wanted  to  go  to  bed.  He  was  gorgeously 
drunk. 

We  moved  on,  Strickland  silent  and  wrath- 
ful, until  Fleete  was  taken  with  violent  shiv- 
ering fits  and  sweating.  He  said  that  the 
smells  of  the  bazaar  were  overpowering,  and 
he  wondered  why  slaughter-houses  were  per- 
mitted so  near  English  residences.  "Can't 
you  smell  the  blood  ?"  said  Fleete. 

We  put  him  to  bed  at  last,  just  as  the  dawn 
was  breaking,  and  Strickland  invited  me  to 
have  another  whisky  and  soda.  While  we 
were  drinking  he  talked  of  the  trouble  in  the 
temple,  and  admitted  that  it  baffled  him  com- 
pletely. Strickland  hates  being  mystified  by 
natives,  because  his  business  in  life  is  to  over- 
match them  with  their  own  weapons.  He  has 
not  yet  succeeded  in  doing  this,  but  in  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  he  will  have  made  some  small 
progress. 

"They  should  have  mauled  us,"  he  said, 
"instead  of  mewing  at  us.  I  wonder  what 
they  meant.     I  don't  like  it  one  little  bit." 

I  said  that  the  Managing  Committee  of  the 
temple  would  in  all  probability  bring  a  crim- 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST      279 

inal  action  against  us  for  insulting  their  re- 
ligion, There  was  a  section  of  the  Indian 
Penal  Code  which  exactly  met  Fleete's  of- 
fence. Strickland  said  he  only  hoped  and 
prayed  that  they  would  do  this.  Before  I  left 
I  looked  into  Fleete's  room,  and  saw  him  lying 
on  his  right  side,  scratching  his  left  breast. 
Then  I  went  to  bed  cold,  depressed,  and  un- 
happy, at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

At  one  o'clock  I  rode  over  to  Strickland's 
house  to  inquire  after  Fleete's  head.  I  im- 
agined that  it  would  be  a  sore  one.  Fleete  was 
breakfasting  and  seemed  unwell.  His  temper 
was  gone,  for  he  was  abusing  the  cook  for 
not  supplying  him  with  an  underdone  chop. 
A  man  who  can  eat  raw  meat  after  a  wet 
night  is  a  curiosity.  I  told  Fleete  this  and  he 
laughed. 

"You  breed  queer  mosquitoes  in  these 
parts/'  he  said.  "I've  been  bitten  to  pieces, 
but  only  in  one  place." 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  the  bite,"  said  Strick- 
land. "It  may  have  gone  down  since  this 
morning." 

While  the  chops  were  being  cooked,  Fleete 
opened  his  shirt  and  showed  us,  just  over  his 
left  breast,  a  mark,  the  perfect  double  of  the 
black    rosettes — the    five    or    six    irregular 


280     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

blotches  arranged  in  a  circle — on  a  leopard's 
hide.  Strickland  looked  and  said,  "It  was 
only  pink  this  morning.  It's  grown  black 
now." 

Fleete  ran  to  a  glass. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "this  is  nasty.  What 
is  it?" 

We  could  not  answer.  Here  the  chops 
came  in,  all  red  and  juicy,  and  Fleete  bolted 
three  in  a  most  offensive  manner.  He  ate  on 
his  right  grinders  only,  and  threw  his  head 
over  his  right  shoulder  as  he  snapped  the  meat. 
When  he  had  finished,  it  struck  him  that  he 
had  been  behaving  strangely,  for  he  said,  apol- 
ogetic illy,  "I  don't  think  I  ever  felt  so  hun- 
gry in  my  life.    I've  bolted  like  an  ostrich." 

After  breakfast  Strickland  said  to  me, 
"Don't  go.  Stay  here,  and  stay  for  the 
night." 

Seeing  that  my  house  was  not  three  miles 
from  Strickland's,  this  request  was  absurd. 
But  Strickland  insisted,  and  was  going  to  say 
something  when  Fleete  interrupted  by  declar- 
ing in  a  shame-faced  way  that  he  felt  hun- 
gry again.  Strickland  sent  a  man  to  my  house 
to  fetch  over  my  bedding  and  a  horse,  and  we 
three  went  down  to  Strickland's  stables  to 
pass  the  hours  until  it  was  time  to  go  out  for  a 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     281 

ride.  The  man  who  has  a  weakness  for  horses 
never  wearies  of  inspecting  them;  and  when 
two  men  are  killing  time  in  this  way  they 
gather  knowledge  and  lies  the  one  from  the 
other. 

There  were  five  horses  in  the  stables,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  the  scene  as  we  tried  to  look 
them  over.  They  seemed  to  have  gone  mad. 
They  reared  and  screamed  and  nearly  tore  up 
their  pickets:  they  sweated  and  shivered  and 
lathered  and  were  distraught  with  fear. 
Strickland's  horses  used  to  know  him  as  well 
as  his  dogs;  which  made  the  matter  more  curi- 
ous. We  left  the  stable  for  fear  of  the  brutes 
throwing  themselves  in  their  panic.  Then 
Strickland  turned  back  and  called  me.  The 
horses  were  still  frightened,  but  they  let  us 
"gentle"  and  make  much  of  them,  and  put 
their  heads  in  our  bosoms. 

"They  aren't  afraid  of  us"  said  Strickland. 
"D'  you  know,  I'd  give  three  months'  pay  if 
Outrage  here  could  talk." 

But  Outrage  was  dumb,  and  could  only 
cuddle  up  to  his  master  and  blow  out  his  nos- 
trils, as  is  the  custom  of  horses  when  they 
wish  to  explain  things  but  can't.  Fleete  came 
up  when  we  were  in  the  stalls,  and  as  soon  as 
the  horses  saw  him,  their  fright  broke  out 
afresh.     It  was  all  that  we  could  do  to  escape 


282      THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

from   the   place   unkicked.      Strickland    said, 
"They  don't  seem  to  love  you,  Fleete." 

"Nonsense,"  .said  Fleete;  "my  mare  will 
follow  me  like  a  dog."  He  went  to  her;  she 
was  in  a  loose-box;  but  as  he  slipped  the  bars 
she  plunged,  knocked  him  down,  and  broke 
away  into  the  garden.  I  laughed,  but  Strick- 
land was  not  amused.  He  took  his  moustache 
in  both  fists  and  pulled  at  it  till  it  nearly  came 
out.  Fleete,  instead  of  going  off  to  chase  his 
property,  yawned,  saying  that  he  felt  sleepy. 
He  went  to  the  house  to  lie  down,  which  was 
a  foolish  way  of  spending  New  Year's  Day. 

Strickland  sat  with  me  in  the  stables  and 
asked  if  I  had  noticed  anything  peculiar  in 
Fleete's  manner.  I  said  that  he  ate  his  food 
like  a  beast ;  but  that  this  might  have  been  the 
result  of  living  alone  in  the  hills  out  of  the 
reach  of  society  as  refined  and  elevating  as 
ours  for  intance.  Strickland  was  not  amused. 
I  do  not  think  that  he  listened  to  me,  for  his 
next  sentence  referred  to  the  mark  on  Fleete's 
breast  and  I  said  that  it  might  have  been 
caused  by  blister-flies,  or  that  it  was  possibly 
a  birth-mark  newly  born  and  now  visible  for 
the  first  time.  We  both  agreed  that  it  was 
unpleasant  to  look  at,  and  Strickland  found 
occasion  to  say  that  I  was  a  fool, 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     283 

"I  can't  tell  you  what  I  think  now,"  said 
he,  "because  you  would  call  me  a  madman; 
but  you  must  stay  with  me  for  the  next  few 
days,  if  you  can.  I  want  you  to  watch  Fleete, 
but  don't  tell  me  what  you  think  till  I  have 
made  up  my  mind." 

"But  I  am  dining  out  to-night,"  I  said. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Strickland,  "and  so  is 
Fleete.  At  least  if  he  doesn't  change  his 
mind." 

We  walked  about  the  garden  smoking,  but 
saying  nothing — because  we  were  friends, 
and  talking  spoils  good  tobacco — till  our 
pipes  were  out.  Then  we  went  to  wake  up 
Fleete.  He  was  wide  awake  and  fidgeting 
about  his  room. 

"I  say,  I  want  some  more  chops,"  he  said. 
"Can  I  get  them?" 

We  laughed  and  said,  "Go  and  change. 
The  ponies  will  be  round  in  a  minute." 

"All  right,"  said  Fleete.  "I'll  go  when  I 
get  the  chops — underdone  ones,  mind." 

He  seemed  to  be  quite  in  earnest.  It  was 
four  o'clock,  and  we  had  had  breakfast  at 
one;  still,  for  a  long  time,  he  demanded  those 
underdone  chops.  Then  he  changed  into  rid- 
ing clothes  and  went  out  into  the  veranda. 


284     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

His  pony — the  mare  had  not  been  caught — 
would  not  let  him  come  near.  All  three  horses 
were  unmanageable — mad  with  fear — and 
finally  Fleete  said  that  he  would  stay  at  home 
and  get  something  to  eat.  Strickland  and  I 
rode  out  wondering.  As  we  passed  the  temple 
of  Hanuman,  the  Silver  Man  came  out  and 
mewed  at  us. 

"He  is  not  one  of  the  regular  priests  of  the 
temple,"  said  Strickland.  "I  think  I  should 
peculiarly  like  to  lay  my  hands  on  him." 

There  was  no  spring  in  our  gallop  on  the 
race-course  tha:  evening.  The  horses  were 
stale,  and  moved  as  though  they  had  been  rid- 
den out. 

"The  fright  after  breakfast  has  been  too- 
much  for  them,"  said  Strickland. 

That  was  the  only  remark  he  made  through 
the  remainder  of  the  ride.  Once  or  twice  I 
think  he  swore  to  himself;  but  that  did  not 
count. 

We  came  back  in  the  dark  at  seven  o'clock, 
and  saw  that  there  were  no  lights  in  the  bun- 
galow. "Careless  ruffians  my  servants  are!" 
said  Strickland. 

My  horse  reared  at  something  on  the  car- 
riage drive,  and  Fleete  stood  up  under  its 
nose. 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     285 

"What  are  you  doing-,  grovelling  about  the 
garden?"  said  Strickland. 

But  both  horses  bolted  and  nearly  threw 
us.  We  dismounted  by  the  stables  and  re- 
turned to  Fleete,  who  was  on  his  hands  and 
knees  under  the  orange-bushes. 

"What  the  devil's  wrong  with  you?"  said 
Strickland. 

"Nothing,  nothing  in  the  world,"  said 
Fleete,  speaking  very  quickly  and  thickly. 
"I've  been  gardening — botanizing,  you  know. 
The  smell  of  the  earth  is  delightful.  I  think 
I'm  going  for  a  walk — a  long  walk — all 
night." 

Then  I  saw  that  there  was  something  ex- 
cessively out  of  order  somewhere,  and  I  said 
to  Strickland,  "I  am  not  dining  out." 

"Bless  you!"  said  Strickland.  "Here, 
Fleete,  get  up.  You'll  catch  fever  there.  Come 
in  to  dinner  and  let's  have  the  lamps  lit.  We'll 
all  dine  at  home." 

Fleete  stood  up  unwillingly,  and  said,  "No 
lamps — no  lamps.  It's  much  nicer  here. 
Let's  dine  outside  and  have  some  more  chops 
— lots  of  'em  and  underdone — bloody  ones 
with  gristle." 

Now  a  December  evening  in  Northern  In- 
dia is  bitterly  cold,  and  Fleete's  suggestion 
was  that  of  a  maniac. 


286     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

"Come  in,"  said  Strickland,  sternly.  "Come 
in  at  once." 

Fleete  came,  and  when  the  lamps  were 
brought,  we  saw  that  he  was  literally  plas- 
tered with  dirt  from  head  to  foot.  He  must 
have  been  rolling  in  the  garden.  He  shrank 
from  the  light  and  went  to  his  room.  His 
eyes  were  horrible  to  look  at.  There  was  a 
green  light  behind  them,  not  in  them,  if  you 
understand,  and  the  man's  lower  lip  hung 
down. 

Strickland  said,  "There  is  going  to  be 
trouble — big  trouble — to-night.  Don't  you 
change  your  riding-things." 

We  waited  and  waited  for  Fleete's  reap- 
pearance, and  ordered  dinner  in  the  meantime. 
We  could  hear  him  moving  about  his  own 
room,  but  there  was  no  light  there.  Presently 
from  the  room  came  the  long-drawn  howl  of 
a  wolf. 

People  write  and  talk  lightly  of  blood  run- 
ning cold  and  hair  standing  up  and  things  of 
that  kind.  Both  sensations  are  too  horrible 
to  be  trifled  with.  My  heart  stopped  as  though 
a  knife  had  been  driven  through  it,  and 
Strickland  turned  as  white  as  the  table-cloth. 

The  howl  was  repeated,  and  was  answered 
by  another  howl  far  across  the  fields. 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     287 

That  set  the  gilded  roof  on  the  horror. 
Strickland  dashed  into  Fleete' s  room.  I  fol- 
lowed, and  we  saw  Fleete  getting  out  of  the 
window.  He  made  beast-noises  in  the  back 
of  his  throat.  He  could  not  answer  us  when 
we  shouted  at  him.    He  spat. 

I  don't  quite  remember  what  followed,  but 
I  think  that  Strickland  must  have  stunned 
him  with  the  long  boot- jack  or  else  I  should 
never  have  been  able  to  sit  on  his  chest.  Fleete 
could  not  speak,  he  could  only  snarl,  and  his 
snarls  were  those  of  a  wolf,  not  of  a  man. 
The  human  spirit  must  have  been  giving  way 
all  day  and  have  died  out  with  the  twilight. 
We  were  dealing  with  a  beast  that  had  once 
bc:n  Fleete. 

The  affair  was  beyond  any  human  and  ra- 
tional experience.  I  tried  to  say  "Hydro- 
phobia," but  the  word  wouldn't  come,  because 
I  knew  that  I  was  lying. 

We  bound  this  beast  with  leather  thongs  of 
the  punkah-rope,  and  tied  its  thumbs  and  big 
toes  together,  and  gagged  it  with  a  shoe-horn, 
which  makes  a  very  efficient  gag  if  you  know 
how  to  arrange  it.  Then  we  carried  it  into 
the  dining-room  and  sent  a  man  to  Dumoise, 
the  doctor,  telling  him  to  come  over  at  once. 
After  we  had  despatched  the  messenger  and 


288     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

were  drawing  breath,  Strickland  said,  "It's 
no  good.  This  isn't  any  doctor's  work."  I, 
also,  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

The  beast's  head  was  free,  and  it  threw  it 
about  from  side  to  side.  Any  one  entering 
the  room  would  have  believed  that  we  were 
curing  a  wolf's  pelt.  That  was  the  most 
loathsome  accessory  of  all. 

Strickland  sat  with  his  chin  in  the  heel  of 
his  fist,  watching  the  beast  as  it  wriggled  on 
the  ground,  but  saying  nothing.  The  shirt 
had  been  torn  open  in  the  scuffle  and  showed 
the  black  rosette  mark  on  the  left  breast.  It 
stood  out  like  a  blister. 

In  the  silence  of  the  watching  we  heard 
something  without  mewing  like  a  she-otter. 
We  both  rose  to  our  feet,  and,  I  answer  for 
myself,  not  Strickland,  felt  sick — actually 
and  physically  sick.  We  told  each  other,  as 
did  the  men  in  Pinafore,  that  it  was  the  cat. 

Dumoise  arrived,  and  I  never  saw  a  little 
man  so  unprofessionally  shocked.  He  said 
that  it  was  a  heart-rending  case  of  hydropho- 
bia, and  that  nothing  could  be  done.  At  least 
any  palliative  measures  would  only  prolong 
the  agony.  The  beast  was  foaming  at  the 
mouth.  Fleete,  as  we  told  Dumoise,  had  been 
bitten  by  dogs  once  or  twice.     Any  man  who 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     289 

keeps  half  a  dozen  terriers  must  expect  a  nip 
now  and  again.  Dumoise  could  offer  no  help. 
He  could  only  certify  that  Fleete  was  dying 
of  hydrophobia.  The  beast  was  then  howling, 
for  it  had  managed  to  spit  out  the  shoe-horn. 
Dumoise  said  that  he  would  be  ready  to  cer- 
tify to  the  cause  of  death,  and  that  the  end 
was  certain.  He  was  a  good  little  man,  and 
he  offered  to  remain  with  us;  but  Strickland 
refused  the  kindness.  He  did  not  wish  to 
poison  Dumoise's  New  Year,  He  would  only 
ask  him  not  to  give  the  real  cause  of  Fleete's 
death  to  the  public. 

So  Dm  noise  left,  deeply  agitated;  and  as 
soon  as  the  noise  of  the  cart  wheels  had  died 
away,  Strickland  told  me,  in  a  whisper,  his 
suspicions.  They  were  so  wildly  improbable 
that  he  dared  not  say  them  out  aloud;  and  I, 
who  entertained  all  Strickland's  beliefs,  was 
so  ashamed  of  owning  to  them  that  I  pre- 
tended to  disbelieve. 

"Even  if  the  Silver  Man  had  bewitched 
Fleete  for  polluting  the  image  of  Hanuman, 
the  punishment  could  not  have  fallen  so 
quickly." 

As  I  was  whispering  this  the  cry  outside 
the  house  rose  again,  and  the  beast  fell  into  a 
fresh   paroxysm  of   struggling  till   we  w^re 


^90     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

afraid  that  the  thongs  that  held  it  would  give 
way. 

"Watch!"  said  Strickland.  "If  this  hap- 
pens six  times  I  shall  take  the  law  into  my 
own  hands.     I  order  you  to  help  me." 

He  went  into  his  room  and  came  out  in  a 
few  minutes  with  the  barrels  of  an  old  shot- 
gun, a  piece  of  fishing  line,  some  thick  cord, 
and  his  heavy  wooden  bedstead.  I  reported 
that  the  convulsions  had  followed  the  cry  by 
two  seconds  in  each  case,  and  the  beast  seemed 
perceptibly  weaker. 

Strickland  muttered.  "But  he  can't  take 
away  the  life!    He  can't  take  away  the  life!" 

I  said,  though  I  knew  that  I  was  arguing 
against  myself,  "It  may  be  a  cat.  It  must  be 
a  cat.  If  the  Silver  Man  is  responsible,  why 
does  he  dare  to  come  here?" 

Strickland  arranged  the  wood  on  the  hearth, 
put  the  gun-barrels  into  the  glow  of  the  fire, 
spread  the  twine  on  the  table  and  broke  a 
walking  stick  in  two.  There  was  one  yard  of 
fishing  line,  gut,  lapped  with  wire,  such  as  is 
used  for  mahseer-fishmg,  and  he  tied  the  two 
ends  together  in  a  loop. 

Then  he  said,  "How  can  we  catch  him? 
He  must  be  taken  alive  and  unhurt." 

I  said  that  we  must  trust  in  Providence,  and 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     291 

go  out  softly  with  polo-sticks  into  the  shrub- 
bery at  the  front  of  the  house.  The  man  or 
animal  that  made  the  cry  was  evidently  mov- 
ing round  the  house  as  regularly  as  a  night- 
watchman.  We  could  wait  in  the  bushes  till 
he  came  by  and  knock  him  over. 

Strickland  accepted  this  suggestion,  and  we 
slipped  out  from  a  bath-room  window  into 
the  front  veranda  and  then  across  the  carriage 
drive  into  the  bushes. 

In  the  moonlight  we  could  see  the  leper 
coming  round  the  corner  of  the  house.  He 
was  perfectly  naked,  and  from  time  to  time  he 
mewed  and  stopped  to  dance  with  his  shadow. 
It  was  an  unattractive  sight,  and  thinking  of 
poor  Fleete,  brought  to  such  degradation  by 
so  foul  a  creature,  I  put  away  all  my  doubts 
and  resolved  to  help  Strickland  from  the 
heated  gun-barrels  to  the  loop  of  twine — 
from  the  loins  to  the  head  and  back  again — ■ 
with  all  tortures  that  might  be  needful. 

The  leper  halted  in  the  front  porch  for  a 
moment  and  we  jumped  out  on  him  with  the 
sticks.  He  was  wonderfully  strong,  and  we 
were  afraid  that  he  might  escape  or  be  fatally 
injured  before  we  caught  him.  We  had  an  idea 
that  lepers  were  frail  creatures,  but  this 
proved  to  be  incorrect.     Strickland  knocked 


292     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

his  legs  from  under  him  and  I  put  my  foot  on 
his  neck.  He  mewed  hideously,  and  even 
through  my  riding-boots  I  could  feel  that  his 
flesh  was  not  the  flesh  of  a  clean  man. 

He  struck  at  us  with  his  hand  and  feet- 
stumps.  We  looped  the  lash  of  a  dog-whip 
round  him,  under  the  armpits,  and  dragged 
him  backward  into  the  hall  and  so  into  the 
dining-room  where  the  beast  lay.  There  we 
tied  him  with  trunk-straps.  He  made  no  at- 
tempt to  escape,  but  mewed. 

When  we  confronted  him  with  the  beast  the 
scene  was  beyond  description.  The  beast 
doubled  backward  into  a  bow  as  though  he 
had  been  poisoned  with  strychnine,  and 
moaned  in  the  most  pitiable  fashion.  Several 
other  things  happened  also,  but  they  cannot  be 
put  down  here. 

"I  think  I  was  right,"  said  Strickland. 
"Now  we  will  ask  him  to  cure  this  case." 

But  the  leper  only  mewed.  Strickland 
wrapped  a  towel  round  his  hand  and  took  the 
gun-barrels  out  of  the  fire.  I  put  the  half  of 
the  broken  walking  stick  through  the  loop  of 
the  fishing-line  and  buckled  the  leper  com- 
fortably to  Strickland's  bedstead.  I  under- 
stood then  how  men  and  women  and  little 
children   can  endure  to  see  a   witch  burned 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     293 

alive:  for  the  beast  was  moaning  on  the  floor, 
and  though  the  Silver  Man  had  no  face,  you 
could  see  horrible  feelings  passing  through  the 
slab  that  took  its  place,  exactly  as  waves  of 
heat  play  across  red-hot  iron — gun-barrels  for 
instance. 

Strickland  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands 
for  a  moment  and  we  got  to  work.  This  part 
is  not  to  be  printed. 

****** 

The  dawn  was  beginning  to  break  when  the 
leper  spoke.  His  mewings  had  not  been  satis- 
factory up  to  that  point.  The  beast  had 
fainted  from  exhaustion  and  the  house  was 
very  still.  We  unstrapped  the  leper  and  told 
him  to  take  away  the  evil  spirit.  He  crawled 
to  the  beast  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  left 
breast.  That  was  all.  Then  he  fell  face 
down  and  whined,  drawing  in  his  breath  as 
he  did  so. 

We  watched  the  face  of  the  beast,  and  saw 
the  soul  of  Fleete  coming  back  into  the  eyes. 
Then  a  sweat  broke  out  on  the  forehead  and 
the  eyes — they  were  human  eyes — closed.  We 
waited  for  an  hour  but  Fleete  still  slept.  We 
carried  him  to  his  room  and  bade  the  leper  goj. 
giving  him  the  bedstead,  and  the  sheet  on  the 


294     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

bedstead  to  cover  his  nakedness,  the  gloves  and 
the  towels  with  which  we  had  touched  him, 
and  the  whip  that  had  been  hooked  round  his 
body.  He  put  the  sheet  about  him  and  went 
out  into  the  early  morning  without  speaking  or 
mewing. 

Strickland  wiped  his  face  and  sat  down.  A 
night-gong,  far  away  in  the  city,  made  seven 
o'clock. 

"Exactly  four-and-twenty  hours!"  said 
Strickland.  "And  I've  done  enough  to  ensure 
my  dismissal  from  the  service,  besides  per- 
manent quarters  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  Do  you 
believe  that  we  are  awake  ?" 

The  red-hot  gun-barrel  had  fallen  on  the 
floor  and  was  singeing  the  carpet.  The  smell 
was  entirely  real. 

That  morning  at  eleven  we  two  together 
went  to  wake  up  Fleete.  We  looked  and  saw 
that  the  black  leopard-rosette  on  his  chest  had 
disappeared.  He  was  very  drowsy  and  tired, 
but  as  soon  as  he  saw  us,  he  said,  "Oh!  Con- 
found you  fellows.  Happy  New  Year  to  you. 
Never  mix  your  liquors.     I'm  nearly  dead." 

"Thanks  for  your  kindness,  but  you're  over 
time,"  said  Strickland.  "To-day  is  the  morn- 
ing of  the  second.  You've  slept  the  clock 
round  with  a  vengeance." 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST     295 

The  door  opened,  and  little  Dumoise  put  his 
head  in.  He  had  come  on  foot,  and  fancied 
that  we  were  laying  out  Fleete. 

"I've  brought  a  nurse,"  said  Dumoise.  "I 
suppose  that  she  can  come  in  for  .... 
what  is  necessary." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Fleete,  cheerily,  sitting 
up  in  bed.     "Bring  on  your  nurses." 

Dumoise  was  dumb.  Strickland  led  him 
out  and  explained  that  there  must  have  been  a 
mistake  in  the  diagnosis.  Dumoise  remained 
dumb  and  left  the  house  hastily.  He  consid- 
ered that  his  professional  reputation  had  been 
injured,  and  was  inclined  to  make  a  personal 
matter  of  the  recovery.  Strickland  went  out 
too.  When  he  came  back,  he  said  that  he  had 
been  to  call  on  the  Temple  of  Hanuman  to 
offer  redress  for  the  pollution  of  the  god,  and 
had  been  solemnly  assured  that  no  white  man 
had  ever  touched  the  idol  and  that. he  was  an 
incarnation  of  all  the  virtues  laboring  under 
a  delusion.  "What  do  you  think?"  said 
Strickland. 

I  said,  "  'There  are  more  things.     .     .     .'  ' 

But  Strickland  hates  that  quotation  He 
says  that  I  have  worn  it  threadbare. 

One  other  curious  thing  happened  which 
frightened  me  as  much  as  anything  in  all  the 
night's  work.     When  Fleete  was  dressed  he 


296     THE  MARK  OF  THE  BEAST 

came  into  the  dining-room  and  sniffed.  He 
had  a  quaint  trick  of  moving  his  nose  when 
he  sniffed.  "Horrid  doggy  smell,  here,"  said 
he.  "You  should  really  keep  those  terriers  of 
yours  in  better  order.     Try  sulphur,  Strick." 

But  Strickland  did  not  answer.  He  caught 
hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair,  and,  without  warn- 
ing went  into  an  amazing  fit  of  hysterics.  It 
is  terrible  to  see  a  strong  man  overtaken  with 
hysteria.  Then  it  struck  me  that  we  had 
fought  for  Fleete's  soul  with  the  Silver  Man 
in  that  room,  and  had  disgraced  ourselves  as 
Englishmen  forever,  and  I  laughed  and  gasped 
and  gurgled  just  as  shamefully  as  Strickland, 
while  Fleete  thought  that  we  had  both  gone 
mad.     We  never  told  him  what  we  had  done. 

Some  years  later,  when  Strickland  had  mar- 
ried and  was  a  church-going  member  of 
society  for  his  wife's  sake,  we  reviewed  the 
incident  dispassionately,  and  Strickland  sug- 
gested that  I  should  put  it  before  the  public. 

I  cannot  myself  see  that  this  step  is  likely  to 
clear  up  the  mystery;  because,  in  the  first 
place,  no  one  will  believe  a  rather  unpleasant 
story,  and,  in  the  second,  it  is  well  known  to 
every  right-minded  man  that  the  gods  of  the 
heathen  are  stone  and  brass,  and  any  attempt 
to  deal  with  them  otherwise  is  justly  con* 
demned. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  DISTRICT 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  DISTRICT 


There's  a  convict  more  in  the  Central  Jail, 

Behind  the  old  mud  wall; 
There's  a  lifter  less  on  the  Border  trail, 
And  the  Queen's  Peace  over  all, 

Dear  boys, 
The  Queen's  Peace  over  all. 

For  we  must  bear  our  leader's  blame, 

On  us  the  shame  will  fall, 
If  we  lift  our  hand  from  a  fettered  land 
And  the  Queen's  Peace  over  all, 
Dear  boys, 
The  Queen's  Peace  over  all ! 

— The  Running  of  Shindand. 


THE  Indus  had  risen  in  flood  without  warn- 
ing-. Last  night  it  was  a  fordable  shal- 
low ;  to-night  five  miles  of  raving  muddy  water 
parted  bank  and  caving  bank,  and  the  river 
was  still  rising  under  the  moon.  A  litter 
borne  by  six  bearded  men,  all  unused  to  the 
work,  stopped  in  the  white  sand  that  bordered 
the  whiter  plain. 

"It's  God's  will,"  they  said.     "We  dare  not 
299 


300  THE  HEAD  OF 

cross  to-night,  even  in  a  boat.  Let  us  light 
a  fire  and  cook  food.     We  be  tired  men." 

They  looked  at  the  litter  inquiringly. 
Within,  the  Deputy  Commissioner  of  the  Kot- 
Kumharsen  district  lay  dying  of  fever. 
They  had  brought  him  across  country,  six 
fighting-men  of  a  frontier  clan  that  he  had 
won  over  to  the  paths  of  a  moderate  right- 
eousness, when  he  had  broken  down  at  the 
foot  of  their  inhospitable  hills.  And  Tallan- 
tire,  his  assistant,  rode  with  them,  heavy- 
hearted  as  heavy-eyed  with  sorrow  and  lack  of 
sleep.  He  had  served  under  the  sick  man  for 
three  years,  and  had  learned  to  love  him  as 
men  associated  in  toil  of  the  hardest  learn  to 
love — or  hate.  Dropping  from  his  horse  he 
parted  the  curtains  of  the  litter  and  peered 
inside. 

"Orde — Orde,  old  man,  can  you  hear  ?  We 
have  to  wait  till  the  river  goes  down,  worse 
luck." 

"I  hear,"  returned  a  dry  whisper.  "Wait 
till  the  river  goes  down.  I  thought  we  should 
reach  camp  before  the  dawn.  Polly  knows. 
She'll  meet  me." 

One  of  the  litter-men  stared  across  the  river 
and  caught  a  faint  twinkle  of  light  on  the  far 
side.     He  whispered  to  Tallantire,  "There  are 


THE  DISTRICT  301 

his  camp-fires,  and  his  wife.  They  will  cross 
in  the  morning,  for  they  have  better  boats. 
Can  he  live  so  long?" 

Tallantire  shook  his  head.  Yardley-Orde 
was  very  near  to  death.  What  need  to  vex  his 
soul  with  hopes  of  a  meeting  that  could  not 
be?  The  river  gulped  at  the  banks,  brought 
down  a  cliff  of  sand,  and  snarled  the  more 
hungrily.  The  litter-men  sought  for  fuel  in 
the  waste — dried  camel-thorn  and  refuse  of 
the  camps  that  had  waited  at  the  ford.  Their 
sword-belts  clinked  as  they  moved  softly  in 
the  haze  of  the  moonlight,  and  Tallantire's 
horse  coughed  to  explain  that  he  would  like  a 
blanket. 

"I'm  cold  too,"  said  the  voice  from  the  litter. 
"I  fancy  this  is  the  end.     Poor  Polly!" 

Tallantire  rearranged  the  blankets;  Khoda 
Dad  Khan,  seeing  this,  stripped  off  his  own 
heavy-wadded  sheepskin  coat  and  added  it  to 
the  pile.  "I  shall  be  warm  by  the  fire  pres- 
ently," said  he.  Tallantire  took  the  wasted 
body  of  his  chief  into  his  arms  and  held  it 
against  his  breast.  Perhaps  if  they  kept  him 
very  warm  Orde  might  live  to  see  his  wife 
once  more.  If  only  blind  Providence  would 
send  a  three-foot  fall  in  the  river ! 

"That's  better,"  said  Orde,  faintly.     "Sorry 


302  THE  HEAD  OF 

to  be  a  nuisance,  but  is — is  there  anything  to 
drink  ?" 

They  gave  him  milk  and  whiskey,  and  Tal- 
lantire  felt  a  little  warmth  against  his  own 
breast.     Orde  began  to  mutter. 

"It  isn't  that  I  mind  dying,"  he  said.  "It's 
leaving  Polly  and  the  district.  Thank  God! 
we  have  no  children.  Dick,  you  know,  I'm 
dipped — awfully  dipped — debts  in  my  first 
five  years'  service.  It  isn't  much  of  a  pension, 
but  enough  for  her.  She  has  her  mother  at 
home.  Getting  there  is  the  difficulty.  And — • 
and — you  see,  not  being  a  soldier's  wife" — 

"We'll  arrange  the  passage  home,  of 
course,"  said  Tallantire,  quietly. 

"It's  not  nice  to  think  of  sending  round  the 
hat ;  but,  good  Lord !  how  many  men  I  lie  here 
and  remember  that  had  to  do  it!  Morten's 
dead — he  was  of  my  year.  Shaughnessy  is 
dead,  and  he  had  children ;  I  remember  he  used 
to  read  us  their  school-letters ;  what  a  bore  we 
thought  him!  Evans  is  dead — Kot-Kumhar- 
sen  killed  him!  Ricketts  of  Myndonie  is  dead 
■• — and  I'm  going  too.  'Man  that  is  born  of 
woman  is  small  potatoes  and  few  in  a  hill.' 
That  reminds  me,  Dick;  the  four  Khusru 
Kheyl  villages  in  our  border  want  a  one-third 
remittance    this    spring.      That's    fair;    their 


THE  DISTRICT  303 

crops  are  bad.  See  that  they  get  it,  and  speak 
to  Ferris  about  the  canal.  I  should  like  to 
have  lived  till  that  was  finished;  it  means  so 
much  for  the  North-Indus  villages — but  Fer- 
ris is  an  idle  beggar — wake  him  up.  You'll 
have  charge  of  the  district  till  my  successor 
comes.  I  wish  they  would  appoint  you  per- 
manently; you  know  the  folk.  I  suppose  it 
will  be  Bullows,  though.  'Good  man,  but  too 
weak  for  frontier  work ;  and  he  doesn't  under- 
stand the  priests.  The  blind  priest  at  Jagai 
will  bear  watching.  You'll  find  it  in  my  pa- 
pers,— in  the  uniform-case,  I  think.  Call  the 
Khusru  Kheyl  men  up;  I'll  hold  my  last  pub- 
lic audience.    Khoda  Dad  Khan !" 

The  leader  of  the  men  sprang  to  the  side  of 
the  litter,  his  companions  following. 

"Men,  I'm  dying,"  said  Orde,  quickly,  in 
the  vernacular;  "and  soon  there  will  be  no 
more  Orde  Sahib  to  twist  your  tails  and  pre- 
vent you  from  raiding  cattle." 

"God  forbid  this  thing!"  broke  out  the  deep 
bass  chorus.    "The  Sahib  is  not  going  to  die." 

"Yes,  he  is ;  and  then  he  will  know  whether 
Mahomed  speaks  truth,  or  Moses.  But  you 
must  be  good  men,  when  I  am  not  here.  Such 
of  you  as  live  in  our  borders  must  pay  your 
taxes  quietly  as  before.    I  have  spoken  of  the 


3©4  THE  HEAD  OF 

villages  to  be  gently  treated  this  year.  Such 
of  you  as  live  in  the  hills  must  refrain  from 
cattle-lifting,  and  burn  no  more  thatch,  and 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voice  of  the  priests, 
who,  not  knowing  the  strength  of  the  Govern- 
ment, would  lead  you  into  foolish  wars, 
wherein  you  will  surely  die  and  your  crops  be 
eaten  by  strangers.  And  you  must  not  sack 
any  caravans,  and  must  leave  your  arms  at 
the  police-post  when  you  come  in ;  as  has  been 
your  custom,  and  my  order.  And  Tallantire 
Sahib  will  be  with  you,  but  I  do  not  know 
who  takes  my  place.  I  speak  now  true  talk, 
for  I  am  as  it  were  alreaay  dead,  my  children, 
— for  though  ye  be  strong  men,  ye  are  chil- 
dren." 

"And  thou  art  our  father  and  our  mother," 
broke  in  Khoda  Dad  Khan  with  an  oath. 
"What  shall  we  do,  now  there  is  no  one  to 
speak  for  us,  or  to  teach  us  to  go  wisely !" 

"There  remains  Tallantire  Sahib.  Go  to 
him;  he  knows  your  talk  and  your  heart. 
Keep  the  young  men  quiet,  listen  to  the  old 
men,  and  obey.  Khoda  Dad  Khan,  take  my 
ring.  The  watch  and  chain  go  to  thy  brother. 
Keep  those  things  for  my  sake,  and  I  will 
speak  to  whatever  God  I  may  encounter  and 
tell  him  that  the  Khusru  Kheyl  are  good  men. 
Ye  have  my  leave  to  go." 


THE  DISTRICT  303 

Khoda  Dad  Khan,  the  ring  upon  his  ringer, 
choked  audibly  as  he  caught  the  well-known 
formula  that  closed  an  interview.  His 
brother  turned  to  look  across  the  river.  The 
dawn  was  breaking,  and  a  speck  of  white 
showed  on  the  dull  silver  of  the  stream.  "She 
comes,"  said  the  man  under  his  breath.  "Can 
he  live  for  another  two  hours  ?"  And  he 
pulled  the  newly-acquired  watch  out  of  his 
belt  and  looked  uncomprehendingly  at  the 
dial,  as  he  had  seen  Englishmen  do. 

For  two  hours  the  bellying  sail  tacked  and 
blundered  up  and  down  the  river,  Tallantire 
still  clasping  Orde  in  his  arms,  and  Khoda 
Dad  Khan  chafing  his  feet.  He  spoke  now 
and  again  of  the  district  and  his  wife,  but,  as 
the  end  neared,  more  frequently  of  the  latter. 
They  hoped  he  did  not  know  that  she  was  even 
then  risking  her  life  in  a  crazy  native  boat  to 
regain  him.  But  the  awful  foreknowledge  of 
the  dying  deceived  them.  Wrenching  himself 
forward,  Orde  looked  through  the  curtains 
and  saw  how  near  was  the  sail.  "That's 
Polly,,,  he  said,  simply,  though  his  mouth  was 
wried  with  agony.  "Polly  and — the  grimmest 
practical  joke  ever  played  on  a  man.  Dick — 
you'll — have — to — explain." 

And  an  hour  later  Tallantire  met  on  the 
bank  a  woman  in  a  gingham  riding-habit  and 


3o6  THE  HEAD  OF 

a  sun-hat  who  cried  out  to  him  for  her  hus- 
band— her  boy  and  her  darling — while  Khoda 
Dad  Khan  threw  himself  face-down  on  the 
sand  and  covered  his  eyes. 


II 


The  very  simplicity  of  the  notion  was  its 
charm.  What  more  easy  to  win  a  reputation 
for  far-seeing  statesmanship,  originality,  and, 
above  all,  deference  to  the  desires  of  the  peo- 
ple, than  by  appointing  a  child  of  the  country 
to  the  rule  of  that  country?  Two  hundred 
millions  of  the  most  loving  and  grateful  folk 
under  Her  Majesty's  dominion  would  laud 
the  fact,  and  their  praise  would  endure  for- 
ever. Yet  he  was  indifferent  to  praise  or 
blame,  as  befitted  the  Very  Greatest  of  All 
Viceroys.  His  administration  was  based  upon 
principle,  and  the  principle  must  be  enforced 
in  season  and  out  of  season.  His  pen  and 
tongue  had  created  the  New  India,  teeming 
with  possibilities — loud-voiced,  insistent,  a  na- 
tion among  nations — all  his  very  own. 
Wherefore  the  Very  Greatest  of  All  the  Vice- 
roys took  another  step  in  advance,  and  with 


THE  DISTRICT  30; 

it  counsel  of  those  who  should  have  advised 
him  on  the  appointment  of  a  successor  to 
Yardley-Orde.  There  was  a  gentleman  and 
a  member  of  the  Bengal  Civil  Service  who 
had  won  his  place  and  a  university  degree  to 
boot  in  fair  and  open  competition  with  the 
sons  of  the  English.  He  was  cultured,  of  the 
world,  and,  if  report  spoke  truly,  had  wisely 
and,  above  all,  sympathetically  ruled  a 
crowded  district  in  Southeastern  Bengal.  He 
had  been  to  England  and  charmed  many 
drawing-rooms  there.  His  name,  if  the  Vice- 
roy recollected  aright,  was  Mr.  Grish  Chunder 
De,  M.  A.  In  short,  did  anybody  see  any  ob- 
jection to  the  appointment,  always  on  princi- 
ple, of  a  man  of  the  people  to  rule  the  people  ? 
The  district  in  Southeastern  Bengal  might 
with  advantage,  he  apprehended,  pass  over  to  a 
younger  civilian  of  Mr.  G.  C.  De's  nationality 
(who  had  written  a  remarkably  clever  pam- 
phlet on  the  political  value  of  sympathy  in  ad- 
ministration) ;  and  Mr.  G.  C.  De  could  be 
transferred  northward  to  Kot-Kumharsen. 
The  Viceroy  was  averse,  on  principle,  to  in- 
terfering with  appointments  under  control  of 
the  Provincial  Governments.  He  wished  it  to 
be  understood  that  he  merely  recommended 
and   advised   in  this  instance.     As   regarded 


3o8  THE  HEAD  OF 

the  mere  question  of  race,  Mr.  Grish  Chunder 
De  was  more  English  than  the  English,  and 
yet  possessed  of  that  peculiar  sympathy  and 
insight  which  the  best  among  the  best  Service 
in  the  world  could  only  win  to  at  the  end  of 
their  service. 

The  stern,  black-bearded  kings  who  sit 
about  the  Council-board  of  India  divided  on 
the  step,  with  the  inevitable  result  of  driving 
the  Very  Greatest  of  All  Viceroys  into  the 
borders  of  hysteria,  and  a  bewildered  obsti- 
nacy pathetic  as  that  of  a  child. 

"The  principle  is  sound  enough,"  said  the 
weary-eyed  Head  of  the  Red  Provinces  in 
which  Kot-Kumharsen  lay,  for  he  too  held 
theories.     "The  only  difficulty  is"- — 

"Put  the  screw  on  the  District  officials ;  bri- 
gade De  with  a  very  strong  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner on  each  side  of  him;  give  him  the  best 
assistant  in  the  Province;  rub  the  fear  of  God 
into  the  people  beforehand;  and  if  anything 
goes  wrong,  say  that  his  colleagues  didn't 
back  him  up.  All  these  lovely  little  experi- 
ments recoil  on  the  District-Officer  in  the 
end,"  said  the  Knight  of  the  Drawn  Sword 
with  a  truthful  brutality  that  made  the  Head 
of  the  Red  Provinces  shudder.  And  on  a 
tacit  understanding  of  this  kind  the  transfer 


THE  DISTRICT  309 

was  accomplished,  as  quietly  as  might  be  for 
many  reasons. 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  what  goes  for  public 
opinion  in  India  did  not  generally  see  the  wis- 
dom of  the  Viceroy's  appointment.  There 
were  not  lacking  indeed  hireling  organs,  no- 
toriously in  the  pay  of  a  tyrannous  bureau- 
cracy, who  more  than  hinted  that  His  Excel- 
lency was  a  fool,  a  dreamer  of  dreams,  a  doc- 
trinaire, and,  worst  of  all,  a  trifler  with  the 
lives  of  men.  "The  Viceroy's  Excellence  Ga- 
zette," published  in  Calcutta,  was  at  pains  to 
thank  "Our  beloved  Viceroy  for  once  more 
and  again  thus  gloriously  vindicating  the 
potentialities  of  the  Bengali  nations  for  ex- 
tended executive  and  administrative  duties  in 
foreign  parts  beyond  our  ken.  We  do  not  at 
all  doubt  that  our  excellent  fellow-townsman, 
Mr.  Grish  Chunder  De,  Esq.,  M.  A.,  will  up- 
hold the  prestige  of  the  Bengali,  notwithstand- 
ing what  underhand  intrigue  and  peshbundi 
may  be  set  on  foot  to  insidiously  nip  his  fame 
and  blast  his  prospects  among  the  proud  civil- 
ians, some  of  which  will  now  have  to  serve 
under  a  despised  native  and  take  orders  too. 
How  will  you  like  that,  Misters?  We  entreat 
our  beloved  Viceroy  still  to  substantiate  him- 
self superiorly  to  race-prejudice  and  color- 
blindness, and  to  allow  the  flower  of  this  now 


310  THE  HEAD  OF 

our  Civil  Service  all  the  full  pays  and  allow- 
ances granted  to  his  more   fortunate  breth- 


III 


"When  does  this  man  take  over  charge? 
I'm  alone  just  now,  and  I  gather  that  I'm  to 
stand  fast  under  him." 

"Would  you  have  cared  for  a  transfer?" 
said  Bullows,  keenly.  Then,  laying  his  hand 
on  Tallantire's  shoulder:  "We're  all  in  the 
same  boat;  don't  desert  us.  And  yet,  why 
the  devil  should  you  stay,  if  you  can  get  an- 
other charge?" 

"It  was  Orde's,"  said  Tallantire,  simply. 

"Well,  it's  De's  now.  He's  a  Bengali  of  the 
Bengalis,  crammed  with  code  and  case  law;  a 
beautiful  man  so  far  as  routine  and  desk  work 
go,  and  pleasant  to  talk  to.  They  naturally 
have  always  kept  him  in  his  own  home  district, 
where  all  his  sisters  and  his  cousins  and  his 
aunts  lived,  somewhere  south  of  Dacca.  He 
did  no  more  than  turn  the  place  into  a  pleas- 
ant little  family  preserve,  allowed  his  subor- 
dinates to  do  what  they  liked,  and  let  every- 
body have  a  chance  at  the  shekels.      Conse- 


THE  DISTRICT  31 B 

quently  he's  immensely  popular  down  there." 

"I've  nothing  to  do  with  that.  How  on 
earth  am  I  to  explain  to  the  district  that  they 
are  going  to  be  governed  by  a  Bengali?  Do 
you — does  the  Government,  I  mean — suppose 
that  the  Khusru  Kheyl  will  sit  quiet  when  they 
once  know  ?  What  will  the  Mahomedan  heads 
of  villages  say?  How  will  the  police — Muzbi 
Sikhs  and  Pathans — how  will  they  work  under 
him?  We  couldn't  say  anything  if  the  Gov- 
ernment appointed  a  sweeper;  but  my  people 
will  say  a  good  deal,  you  know  that.  It's  a 
piece   of   cruel    folly!" 

"My  dear  boy,  I  know  all  that,  and  more. 
I've  represented  it,  and  have  been  told  that  I 
am  exhibiting  'culpable  and  puerile  prejudice.' 
By  Jove,  if  the  Khusru  Kheyl  don't  exhibit 
something  worse  than  that  I  don't  know  the 
Border!  The  chances  are  that  you  will  have 
the  district  alight  on  your  hands,  and  I  shall 
have  to  leave  my  work  and  help  you  pull 
through.  I  needn't  ask  you  to  stand  by  the 
Bengali  man  in  every  possible  way.  You'll  do 
that  for  your  own  sake." 

"For  Orde's.  I  can't  say  that  I  care  two- 
pence personally." 

"Don't  be  an  ass.  It's  grievous  enough, 
God  knows,  and  the  Government  will  know 


3i2  THE  HEAD  OF 

later  on;  but  there's  no  reason  for  your  sulk- 
ing. You  must  try  to  run  the  district;  you 
must  stand  between  him  and  as  much  insult  as 
possible;  you  must  show  him  the  rope;  you 
must  pacify  the  Khusru  Kheyl  and  just  warn 
Curbar  of  the  Police  to  look  out  for  trouble 
by  the  way.  I'm  always  at  the  end  of  a  tele- 
graph-wire, and  willing  to  peril  my  reputation 
to  hold  the  district  together.  You'll  lose  yours, 
of  course.  If  you  keep  things  straight,  and 
he  isn't  actually  beaten  with  a  stick  when  he's 
on  tour,  he'll  get  all  the  credit.  If  anything 
goes  wrong,  you'll  be  told  that  you  didn't  sup- 
port him  loyally." 

"I  know  what  I've  got  to  do,"  said  Tallan- 
tire,  wearily,  "and  I'm  going  to  do  it.  But  it's 
hard." 

"The  work  is  with  us,  the  event  is  with 
Allah, — as  Orde  used  to  say  when  he  was 
more  than  usually  in  hot  water."  And  Bul- 
lows  rode  away. 

That  two  gentlemen  in  Her  Majesty's  Ben- 
gal Civil  Service  should  thus  discuss  a  third, 
also  in  that  service,  and  a  cultured  and  affable 
man  withal,  seems  strange  and  saddening.  Yet 
listen  to  the  artless  babble  of  the  Blind  Mullah 
of  Jagai,  the  priest  of  the  Khusru  Kheyl,  sit- 
ting upon  a  rock  overlooking  the  Border.  Five 


THE  DISTRICT  313 

years  before,  a  chance-hurled  shell  from  a 
screw-gun  battery  had  dashed  earth  in  the  face 
of  the  Mullah,  then  urging  a  rush  of  Ghazis 
against  half  a  dozen  British  bayonets.  So  he 
became  blind,  and  hated  the  English  none  the 
less  for  the  little  accident.  Yardley-Orde  knew 
his  failing,  and  had  many  times  laughed  at 
him  therefore. 

"Dogs  you  are,"  said  the  Blind  Mullah  to 
the  listening  tribesmen  round  the  fire. 
"Whipped  dogs !  Because  you  listened  to  Orde 
Sahib  and  called  him  father  and  behaved  as 
his  children,  the  British  Government  have 
proven  how  they  regard  you.  Orde  Sahib  ye 
know  is  dead." 

"Ai!  ai!  ai!"  said  half  a  dozen  voices. 

"He  was  a  man.  Comes  now  in  his  stead, 
whom  think  ye?  A  Bengali  of  Bengal — an 
eater  of  fish  from  the  South." 

"A  lie!"  said  Khoda  Dad  Khan.  "And  but 
for  the  small  matter  of  thy  priesthood,  I'd 
drive  my  gun  butt-first  down  thy  throat." 

"Oho,  art  thou  there,  lickspittle  of  the  Eng- 
lish? Go  in  to-morrow  across  the  Border  to 
pay  service  to  Orde  Sahib's  successor,  and  thou 
shalt  slip  thy  shoes  at  the  tent-door  of  a  Ben- 
gali, as  thou  shalt  hand  thy  offering  to  a  Ben- 
gali's black  fist.     This  I  know;  and  in  my 


3  H  THE  HEAD  OF 

youth,  when  a  young  man  spoke  evil  to  a 
Mullah  holding  the  doors  of  Heaven  and  Hell, 
the  gun-butt  was  not  rammed  down  the  Mul- 
lah's gullet.    No!" 

The  blind  Mullah  hated  Khoda  Dad  Khan 
with  Afghan  hatred ;  both  being  rivals  for  the 
headship  of  the  tribe;  but  the  latter  was  feared 
for  bodily  as  the  other  for  spiritual  gifts. 
Khoda  Dad  Khan  looked  at  Orde's  ring  and 
grunted,  "I  go  in  to-morrow  because  I  am  not 
an  old  fool,  preaching  war  against  the  Eng- 
lish. If  the  Government,  smitten  with  mad- 
ness, have  done  this,  then     . 

"Then,"  croaked  the  Mullah,  "thou  wilt 
take  out  the  young  men  and  strike  at  the  four 
villages  within  the  Border?" 

"Or  wring  thy  neck,  black  raven  of  Jehan- 
num,  for  a  bearer  of  ill-tidings." 

Khoda  Dad  Khan  oiled  his  long  locks  with 
great  care,  put  on  his  best  Bokhara  belt,  a  new 
turban  cap  and  fine  green  shoes,  and  accompa- 
nied by  a  few  friends  came  down  from  the  hills 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  new  Deputy  Commissioner 
of  Kot-Kumharsen.  Also  he  bore  tribute — 
four  or  five  priceless  gold  mohurs  of  Akbar's 
time  in  a  white  handkerchief.  These  the  Dep- 
uty Commissioner  would  touch  and  remit. 
The  little  ceremony  used  to  be  a  sign  that,  so 


THE  DISTRICT  315 

far  as  Khoda  Dad  Khan's  personal  influence 
went,  the  Khusru  Kheyl  would  be  good  boys, 
— till  the  next  time;  especially  if  Khoda  Dad 
Khan  happened  to  like  the  new  Deputy  Com- 
misioner.  In  Yardley-Orde's  consulship  his 
visit  concluded  with  a  sumptuous  dinner  and 
perhaps  forbidden  liquors ;  certainly  with  some 
wonderful  tales  and  great  good-fellowship. 
Tjen  Khoda  Dad  Khan  would  swagger  back 
to  his  hold,  vowing  that  Orde  Sahib  was  one 
prince  and  Tallantire  Sahib  another,  and  that 
whosoever  went  a-raiding  into  British  terri- 
tory would  be  flayed  alive.  On  this  occasion  he 
found  the  Deputy  Commissioner's  tents  look- 
ing much  as  usual.  Regarding  himself  as 
privileged  he  strode  through  the  open  door  to 
confront  a  suave,  portly  Bengali  in  English 
costume  writing  at  a  table.  Unversed  in  the 
elevating  influence  of  education,  and  not  in  the 
least  caring  for  university  degrees,  Khoda  Dad 
Khan  promptly  set  the  man  down  for  a  Babu 
— the  native  clerk  of  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner— a  hated  and  despised  animal. 

"Ugh!"  said  he,  cheerfully.  "Where's 
your  master,  Babujee?" 

"I  am  the  Deputy  Commissioner,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  English. 

Now  he  overvalued  the  effects  of  university 
degrees,  and  stared  Khoda  Dad  Khan  in  the 


316  THE  HEAD  OF 

face.  But  if  from  your  earliest  infancy  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  look  on  battle,  mur- 
der, and  sudden  death,  if  spilt  blood  affects 
your  nerves  as  much  as  red  paint,  and,  above 
all,  if  you  have  faithfully  believed  that  the 
Bengali  was  the  servant  of  all  Hindustan,  and 
that  all  Hindustan  was  vastly  inferior  to  your 
own  large,  lustful  self,  you  can  endure,  even 
though  uneducated,  a  very  large  amount  of 
looking  over.  You  can  even  stare  down  a 
graduate  of  an  Oxford  college  if  the  latter 
has  been  born  in  a  hothouse,  of  stock  bred  in 
a  hothouse,  and  fearing  physical  pain  as  some 
men  fear  sin;  especially  if  your  opponent's 
mother  has  frightened  him  to  sleep  in  his 
youth  with  horrible  stories  of  devils  inhabit- 
ing Afghanistan,  and  dismal  legends  of  the 
black  North.  The  eyes  behind  the  gold  spec- 
tacles sought  the  floor.  Khoda  Dad  Khan 
chuckled,  and  swung  out  to  find  Tallantire 
hard  by.  "Here,"  said  he,  roughly,  thrusting 
the  coins  before  him,  "touch  and  remit.  That 
answers  for  my  good  behavior.  But,  O  Sahib, 
has  the  Government  gone  mad  to  send  a  black 
Bengali  dog  to  us?  And  am  I  to  pay  service 
to  such  an  one?  And  are  you  to  work  under 
him?    What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  is  an  order,"  said  Tallantire.     He  had 


THE  DISTRICT  31^ 

expected  something  of  this  kind.  "He  is  a 
very  clever  S-sahib." 

"He  a  Sahib!  He's  a  kala  admi — a  black 
man — unfit  to  run  at  the  tail  of  a  potter's  don- 
key. All  the  peoples  of  the  earth  have  harried 
Bengal.  It  is  written.  Thou  knowest  when 
we  of  the  North  wanted  women  of  plunder 
whither  went  we?  To  Bengal — where  else? 
What  child's  talk  is  this  of  Sahibdom — after 
Orde  Sahib  too !  Of  a  truth  the  Blind  Mullah 
was  right." 

"What  of  him?"  asked  Tallantire,  uneasily. 
He  mistrusted  that  old  man  with  his  dead  eyes 
and  his  deadly  tongue. 

"Nay,  now,  because  of  the  oath  that  I  sware 
to  Orde  Sahib  when  we  watched  him  die  by  the 
river  yonder,  I  will  tell.  In  the  first  place,  is  it 
true  that  the  English  have  set  the  heel  of  the 
Bengali  on  their  own  neck,  and  that  there  is  no 
more  English  rule  in  the  land?" 

"I  am  here,"  said  Tallantire,  "and  I  serve 
the  Maharanee  of  England." 

"The  Mullah  said  otherwise,  and  further 
that  because  we  loved  Orde  Sahib  the  Govern- 
ment sent  us  a  pig  to  show  that  we  were  dogs, 
who  till  now  have  been  held  by  the  strong 
hand.  Also  that  they  were  taking  away  the 
white  soldiers,  that  more  Hindustanis  might 
come,  and  that  all  was  changing." 


3i8  THE  HEAD  OF 

This  is  the  worst  of  ill-considered  handling 
of  a  very  large  country.  What  looks  so  feasi- 
ble in  Calcutta,  so  right  in  Bombay,  so  unas- 
sailable in  Madras,  is  misunderstood  by  the 
North  and  entirely  changes  its  complexion  on 
the  banks  of  the  Indus.  Khoda  Dad  Khan  ex- 
plained as  clearly  as  he  could  that,  though  he 
himself  intended  to  be  good,  he  really  could 
not  answer  for  the  more  reckless  members  of 
his  tribe  under  the  leadership  of  the  Blind 
Mullah.  They  might  or  they  might  not  give 
trouble,  but  they  certainly  had  no  intention 
whatever  of  obeying  the  new  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner. Was  Tallantire  perfectly  sure  that  in 
the  event  of  any  systematic  border-raiding  the 
force  in  the  district  could  put  it  down 
promptly  ? 

'Tell  the  Mullah  if  he  talks  any  more  fool's 
talk,"  said  Tallantire,  curtly,  "that  he  takes  his 
men  on  to  certain  death,  and  his  tribe  to  block- 
ade, trespass-fine  and  blood-money.  But  why 
do  I  talk  to  one  who  no  longer  carries  weight 
in  the  counsels  of  the  tribe?" 

Khoda  Dad  Khan  pocketed  that  insult.  He 
had  learned  something  that  he  much  wanted  to 
know,  and  returned  to  his  hills  to  be  sarcasti- 
cally complimented  by  the  Mullah,  whose 
tongue  raging  round  the  camp-fires  was  dead- 
er fb.me  than  ever  dung-cake  fed. 


THE  DISTRICT  319 

IV 

Be  pleased  to  consider  here  for  a  moment 
the  unknown  district  of  Kot-Kumharsen.  It 
lay  cut  lengthways  by  the  Indus  under  the  line 
of  the  Khusru  hills — ramparts  of  useless  earth 
and  tumbled  stone.  It  was  seventy  miles  long- 
by  fifty  broad,  maintained  a  population  of 
something  less  than  two  hundred  thousand, 
and  paid  taxes  to  the  extent  of  forty  thousand 
pounds  a  year  on  an  area  that  was  by  rather 
more  than  half  sheer,  hopeless  waste.  The  cul- 
tivators were  not  gentle  people,  the  miners  for 
salt  were  less  gentle  still,  and  the  cattle-breed- 
ers least  gentle  of  all.  A  police-post  in  the  top 
right-hand  corner  and  a  tiny  mud  fort  in  the 
top  left-hand  corner  prevented  as  much  salt- 
smuggling  and  cattle-lifting  as  the  influence  of 
the  civilians  could  not  put  down;  and  in  the 
bottom  right-hand  corner  lay  Jumala,  the  dis- 
trict headquarters — a  pitiful  knot  of  lime- 
washed  barns  facetiously  rented  as  houses, 
reeking  with  frontier  fever,  leaking  in  the 
rain,  and  ovens  in  the  summer. 

It  was  to  this  place  that  Grish  Chunder  De 
was  traveling,  there  formally  to  take  over 
charge  of  the  district.  But  the  news  of  his 
coming  had  gone  before.     Bengalis  were  as 


320  THE  HEAD  OF 

scarce  as  poodles  among  the  simple  Borderers, 
who  cut  each  other's  heads  open  with  their 
long  spades  and  worshipped  impartially  at 
Hindu  and  Mahomedan  shrines.  They 
crowded  to  see  him,  pointing  at  him,  and  di- 
versely comparing  him  to  a  gravid  milch-buf- 
falo, or  a  broken-down  horse,  as  their  limited 
range  of  metaphor  prompted.  They  laughed 
at  his  police-guard,  and  wished  to  know  how 
long  the  burly  Sikhs  were  going  to  lead  Ben- 
gali apes.  They  inquired  whether  he  had 
brought  his  women  with  him,  and  advised  him 
explicitly  not  to  tamper  with  theirs.  It  re- 
mained for  a  wrinkled  hag  by  the  roadside  to 
slap  her  lean  breasts  as  he  passed,  crying,  "I 
have  suckled  six  that  could  have  eaten  six 
thousand  of  him.  The  Government  shot  them, 
and  made  this  That  a  king !"  Whereat  a  blue- 
turbaned  huge-boned  plough  mender  shouted, 
"Have  hope,  mother  o'  mine!  He  may  yet  go 
the  way  of  thy  wastrels."  And  the  children, 
the  little  brown  puff-balls,  regarded  curiously. 
It  was  generally  a  good  thing  for  infancy  to 
stray  into  Orde  Sahib's  tent,  where  copper 
coins  were  to  be  won  for  the  mere  wishing, 
and  tales  of  the  most  authentic,  such  as  even 
their  mothers  knew  but  the  first  half  of.  No! 
This  fat  black  man  could  never  tell  them  how 


THE  DISTRICT  321 

Pir  Prith  hauled  the  eye-teeth  out  of  ten  devils ; 
how  the  big  stones  came  to  lie  all  in  a  row  on 
top  of  the  Khusru  hills,  and  what  happened  if 
you  shouted  through  the  village-gate  to  the 
grey  wolf  at  even  "Badl  Khas  is  dead." 
Meantime  Grish  Chunder  De  talked  hastily 
and  much  to  Tallantire,  after  the  manner  of 
those  who  are  "more  English  than  the  Eng- 
lish,"— of  Oxford  and  "home,"  with  much 
curious  book-knowledge  of  bump-suppers, 
cricket-matches,  hunting-runs,  and  other  un- 
holy sports  of  the  alien.  "We  must  get  these 
fellows  in  hand,"  he  said  once  or  twice,  un- 
easily ;  "get  them  well  in  hand,  and  drive  them 
on  a  tight  rein.  No  use,  you  know,  being 
slack  with  your  district." 

And  a  moment  later  Tallantire  heard  De- 
bendra  Nath  De,  who  brotherliwise  had  fol- 
lowed his  kinsman's  fortune  and  hoped  for 
the  shadow  of  his  protection  as  a  pleader, 
whisper  in  Bengali,  "Better  are  dried  fish  at 
Dacca  than  drawn  swords  at  Delhi.  Brother 
of  mine,  these  men  are  devils,  as  our  mother 
said.  And  you  will  always  have  to  ride  upon 
a  horse!" 

That  night  there  was  a  public  audience  in  a 
broken-down  little  town  thirty  miles  from  Ju- 
mala,  when  the  new  Deputy  Commissioner,  in 


322  THE  HEAD  OF 

reply  to  the  greetings  of  the  subordinate  native 
officials,  delivered  a  speech.  It  was  a  carefully 
thought-out  speech,  which  would  have  been 
very  valuable  had  not  his  third  sentence  begun 
with  three  innocent  words,  "Hamara  hookum 
hai — It  is  my  order."  Then  there  was  a  laugh, 
clear  and  bell-like,  from  the  back  of  the  big 
tent,  where  a  few  Border  landholders  sat,  and 
the  laugh  grew  and  scorn  mingled  with  it,  and 
the  lean,  keen  face  of  Debendra  Nath  De  paled, 
and  Grish  Chunder  turning  to  Tallantire 
spake:  "You — you  put  up  this  arrangement." 
Upon  that  instant  the  noise  of  hoofs  rang 
without,  and  there  entered  Curbar,  the  District 
Superintendent  of  Police,  sweating  and  dusty. 
The  State  had  tossed  him  into  a  corner  of  the 
province  for  seventeen  weary  years,  there  to 
check  smuggling  of  salt,  and  to  hope  for  pro- 
motion that  never  came.  He  had  forgotten 
how  to  keep  his  white  uniform  clean,  had 
screwed  rusty  spurs  into  patent-leather  shoes, 
and  clothed  his  head  indifferently  with  a  hel- 
met or  a  turban.  Soured,  old,  worn  with  heat 
and  cold,  he  waited  till  he  should  be  entitled  to 
sufficient  pension  to  keep  him  from  starving. 

"Tallantire,"  said  he,  disregarding  Grish 
Chunder  De,  "come  outside.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you."     They    withdrew.     "It's  this,"  con* 


THE  DISTRICT  323 

tinued  Curbar.  "The  Khusru  Kheyl  have 
rushed  and  cut  up  half  a  dozen  of  the  coolies 
on  Ferris's  new  canal-embankment;  killed  a 
couple  of  men  and  carried  off  a  woman.  I 
wouldn't  trouble  you  about  that — Ferris  is  af- 
ter them  and  Hugonin,  my  assistant,  with  ten 
mounted  police.  But  that's  only  the  beginning, 
I  fancy.  Their  fires  are  out  on  the  Hassan  Ar- 
deb  heights,  and  unless  we're  pretty  quick 
there'll  be  a  flare-up  all  along  our  Border. 
They  are  sure  to  raid  the  four  Khusru  villages 
on  our  side  of  the  line ;  there's  been  bad  blood 
between  them  for  years;  and  you  know  the 
Blind  Mullah  has  been  preaching  a  holy  war 
since  Orde  went  out.    What's  your  notion?" 

"Damn!"  said  Tallantire,  thoughtfully. 
"They've  begun  quick.  Well,  it  seems  to  me 
I'd  beter  ride  off  to  Fort  Ziar  and  get  what 
men  I  can  there  to  picket  among  the  lowland 
villages,  if  it's  not  too  late.  Tommy  Dodd  com- 
mands at  Fort  Ziar,  I  think.  Ferris  and  Hu- 
gonin ought  to  teach  the  canal-thieves  a  lesson, 
and —  No,  we  can't  have  the  Head  of  the  Po- 
lice ostentatiously  guarding  the  Treasury.  You 
go  back  to  the  canal.  I'll  wire  Bullows  to  come 
into  Jumala  with  a  strong  police-guard,  and 
sit  on  the  Treasury.  They  won't  touch  the 
place,  but  it  looks  well." 


324  THE  HEAD  OF 

"I — I — I  insist  upon  knowing  what  this 
means,"  said  the  voice  of  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner, who  had  followed  the  speakers. 

"Oh !"  said  Curbar,  who  being  in  the  Police 
could  not  understand  that  fifteen  years  of  edu- 
cation, must,  on  principle,  change  the  Bengali 
into  a  Briton.  "There  has  been  a  fight  on  the 
Border,  and  heaps  of  men  are  killed.  There's 
going  to  be  another  fight,  and  heaps  more  will 
be  killed." 

"What  for?" 

"Because  the  teeming  millions  of  this  dis- 
trict don't  exactly  approve  of  you,  and  think 
that  under  your  benign  rule  they  are  going  to 
have  a  good  time.  It  strikes  me  that  you  had 
better  make  arangements.  I  act,  as  you  know, 
by  your  orders.     What  do  you  advise  ?" 

"I — I  take  you  all  to  witness  that  I  have  not 
yet  assumed  charge  of  the  district,"  stam- 
mered the  Deputy  Commissioner,  not  in  the 
tones  of  the  "more  English." 

"Ah,  I  thought  so.  Well,  as  I  was  saying, 
Tallantire,  your  plan  is  sound.  Carry  it  out. 
Do  you  want  an  escort?" 

"No;  only  a  decent  horse.  But  how  about 
wiring  to  headquarters  ?" 

"I  fancy,  from  the  color  of  his  cheeks,  that 
your  superior  officer  will  send  some  wonderful 


THE  DISTRICT  325 

telegrams  before  the  night's  over.  Let  him  do 
that,  and  we  shall  have  half  the  troops  of  the 
province  coming  up  to  see  what's  the  trouble. 
Well,  run  along,  and  take  care  of  yourself — 
the  Khusru  Kheyl  jab  upward  from  below, 
remember.  Ho!  Mir  Khan,  give  Tallantire 
Sahib  the  best  of  the  horses,  and  tell  five  men 
to  ride  to  Jumala  with  the  Deputy  Com- 
missioner Sahib  Bahadur.  There  is  a  hurry 
toward." 

There  was;  and  it  was  not  in  the  least  bet- 
tered by  Debendra  Nath  De  clinging  to  a  po- 
liceman's bridle  and  demanding  the  shortest, 
the  very  shortest  way  to  Jumala.  Now  origi- 
nality is  fatal  to  the  Bengali.  Debendra  Nath 
should  have  stayed  with  his  brother,  who  rode 
steadfastly  for  Jumala  on  the  railway-line, 
thanking  gods  entirely  unknown  to  the  most 
catholic  of  universities  that  he  had  not  taken 
charge  of  the  district,  and  could  still — happy 
resource  of  a  fertile  race ! — fall  sick. 

And  I  grieve  to  say  that  when  he  reached 
his  goal  two  policemen,  not  devoid  of  rude  wit, 
who  had  been  conferring  together  as  they 
bumped  in  their  saddles,  arranged  an  entertain- 
ment for  his  behoof.  It  consisted  of  first  one 
and  then  the  other  entering  his  room  with  pro- 
digious details  of  war,  the  massing  of  blood- 


326  THE  HEAD  OF 

thirsty  and  devilish  tribes,  and  the  burning  of 
towns.  It  was  almost  as  good,  said  these 
scamps,  as  riding  with  Curbar  after  evasive 
Afghans.  Each  invention  kept  the  hearer  at 
work  for  half  an  hour  on  telegrams  which  the 
sack  of  Delhi  would  hardly  have  justified.  To 
every  power  that  could  move  a  bayonet  or 
transfer  a  terrified  man,  Grish  Chunder  De  ap- 
pealed telegraphically.  He  was  alone,  his  as- 
sistants had  fled,  and  in  truth  he  had  not  taken 
over  charge  of  the  district.  Had  the  telegrams 
been  despatched  many  things  would  have  oc- 
curred ;  but  since  the  only  signaller  in  Jumala 
had  gone  to  bed,  and  the  station-master,  after 
one  look  at  the  tremendous  pile  of  paper,  dis- 
covered that  railway  regulations  forbade  the 
forwarding  of  imperial  messages,  Policemen 
Ram  Singh  and  Nihal  Singh  were  fain  to  turn 
the  stuff  into  a  pillow  and  slept  on  it  very 
comfortably. 

Tallantire  drove  his  spurs  into  a  rampant 
skewbald  stallion  with  china-blue  eyes,  and  set- 
tled himself  for  the  forty-mile  ride  to  Fort 
Ziar.  Knowing  his  district  blindfold,  he 
wasted  no  time  hunting  for  short  cuts,  but 
headed  across  the  richer  grazing-ground  to  the 
ford  where  Orde  had  died  and  been  buried. 
The  dusty  ground  deadened  the  noise  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  the  moon  threw  his  shadow,  a 


THE  DISTRICT  327 

restless  goblin,  before  him,  and  the  heavy  dew 
drenched  him  to  the  skin.  Hillock,  scrub  that 
brushed  against  the  horse's  belly,  unmetalled 
road  where  the  whip-like  foliage  of  the  tamar- 
isks lashed  his  forehead,  illimitable  levels  of 
lowland  furred  with  bent  and  speckled  and 
drowsing  cattle,  waste,  and  hillock  anew, 
dragged  themselves  past,  and  the  skewbald 
was  laboring  in  the  deep  sand  of  the  Indus- 
ford.  Tallantire  was  conscious  of  no  distinct 
thought  till  the  nose  of  the  dawdling  ferry- 
boat grounded  on  the  farther  side,  and  his 
horse  shied  snorting  at  the  white  headstone  of 
Orde's  grave.  Then  he  uncovered  and  shouted 
that  the  dead  might  hear,  "They're  out,  old 
man!  Wish  me  luck."  In  the  chill  of  the 
dawn  he  was  hammering  with  a  stirrup-iron 
at  the  gate  of  Fort  Ziar,  where  fifty  sabres  of 
that  tattered  regiment,  the  Belooch  Beshaklis 
were  supposed  to  guard  Her  Majesty's  inter- 
ests along  a  few  hundred  miles  of  Border. 
This  particular  fort  was  commanded  by  a  sub- 
altern, who,  born  of  the  ancient  family  of  the 
Derouletts,  naturally  answered  to  the  name  of 
Tommy  Dodd.  Him  Tallantire  found  robed 
in  a  sheepskin  coat,  shaking  with  fever  like  an 
aspen,  and  trying  to  read  the  native  apothe- 
cary's list  of  invalids. 


1328  THE  HEAD  OF 

"So  you've  come  to,"  said  he.  "Well,  we're 
all  sick  here,  and  I  don't  think  I  can  horse 
thirty  men;  but  we're  bub — bub' — bub  blessed 
willing.  Stop,  does  this  impress  you  as  a  trap 
or  a  lie?"  He  tossed  a  scrap  of  paper  to  Tal- 
lantire,  on  which  was  written  painfully  in 
crabbed  Gurmukhi,  "We  cannot  hold  young 
horses.  They  will  feed  after  the  moon  goes 
down  in  the  four  Border  villages  issuing  from 
the  Jagai  pass  on  the  next  night."  Then  in 
English  round  hand — "Your  sincere  friend." 

"Good  man!"  said  Tallantire.  "That's 
Khoda  Dad  Khan's  work,  I  know.  It's  the 
only  piece  of  English  he  could  ever  keep  in 
his  head,  and  he  is  immensely  proud  of  it.  He 
is  playing  against  the  Blind  Mullah  for  his 
own  hand — the  treacherous  young  ruffian!" 

"Don't  know  the  politics  of  the  Khusru 
Kheyl,  but  if  you're  satisfied,  I  am.  That 
was  pitched  in  over  the  gatehead  last  night, 
and  I  thought  we  might  pull  ourselves  to- 
gether and  see  what  was  on.  Oh,  but  we're 
sick  with  fever  here  and  no  mistake!  Is  this 
going  to  be  a  big  business,  think  you?"  said 
Tommy  Dodd. 

Tallantire  gave  him  briefly  the  outlines  of 
the  case,  and  Tommy  Dodd  whistled  and  shook 
with  fever  alternately.  That  day  he  devoted  to 
strategy,  the  art  of  war,  and  the  enlivenment 


THE  DISTRICT  329 

of  the  invalids,  till  at  dusk  there  stood  ready 
forty-two  troopers,  lean,  worn,  and  disheveled, 
whom  Tommy  Dodd  surveyed  with  pride,  and 
addressed  thus :  "O  men!  If  you  die  you  will 
go  to  Hell.  Therefore  endeavor  to  keep  alive. 
But  if  you  go  to  Hell  that  place  cannot  be  hot- 
ter than  this  place,  and  we  are  not  told  that 
we  shall  there  suffer  from  fever.  Consequently 
be  not  afraid  of  dying.  File  out  there!"  They 
grinned,  and  went. 


It  will  be  long  ere  the  Khusru  Kheyl  forget 
their  night  attack  on  the  lowland  villages.  The 
Mullah  had  promised  an  easy  victory  and  un- 
limited plunder;  but  behold,  armed  troopers  of 
the  Queen  had  risen  out  of  the  very  earth, 
cutting,  slashing,  and  riding  down  under  the 
stars,  so  that  no  man  knew  where  to  turn,  and 
all  feared  that  they  had  brought  an  army  about 
their  ears,  and  ran  back  to  the  hills.  In  the 
panic  of  that  flight  more  men  were  seen  to 
drop  from  wounds  inflicted  by  an  Afghan 
knife  jabbed  upward,  and  yet  more  from  long- 
range  carbine-fire.  Then  there  rose  a  cry  of 
treachery,  and  when  they  reached  their  own 
guarded  heights,  they  had  left,  with  some  forty 
dead  and  sixty  wounded,  all  their  confidence 


330  THE  HEAD  OF 

in  the  Blind  Mullah  on  the  plains  below.  They 
clamored,  swore,  and  argued  round  the  fires; 
the  women  wailing  for  the  lost,  and  the  Mullah 
shrieking  curses  on  the  returned. 

Then  Khoda  Dad  Khan,  eloquent  and  un- 
breathed,  for  he  had  taken  no  part  in  the  fight, 
rose  to  improve  the  occasion.  He  pointed  out 
that  the  tribe  owed  every  item  of  its  present 
misfortune  to  the  Blind  Mullah,  who  had  lied 
in  every  possible  particular  and  talked  them 
into  a  trap.  It  was  undoubtedly  an  insult  that 
a  Bengali,  the  son  of  a  Bengali,  should  pre- 
sume to  administer  the  Border,  but  that  fact 
did  not,  as  the  Mullah  pretended,  herald  a 
general  time  of  license  and  lifting;  and  the 
inexplicable  madness  of  the  English  had  not 
in  the  least  impaired  their  power  of  guarding 
their  marches.  On  the  contrary,  the  baffled 
and  out-generalled  tribe  would  now,  just  when 
their  food-stock  was  lowest,  be  blockaded  from 
any  trade  with  Hindustan  until  they  had  sent 
hostages  for  good  behavior,  paid  compensation 
for  disturbance,  and  blood-money  at  the  rate 
of  thirty-six  English  pounds  per  head  for 
every  villager  that  they  might  have  slain.  "And 
ye  know  that  those  lowland  dogs  will  make 
oath  that  we  have  slain  scores.  Will  the  Mul- 
lah pay  the  fines  or  must  we  sell  our  guns?" 


THE  DISTRICT  331 

A  low  growl  ran  round  the  fires.  "Now,  see- 
ing that  all  this  is  the  Mullah's  work,  and  that 
we  have  gained  nothing  but  promises  of  Para- 
dise thereby,  it  is  in  my  heart  that  we  of  the 
Khusru  Kheyl  lack  a  shrine  whereat  to  pray. 
We  are  weakened,  and  henceforth  how  shall 
we  dare  to  cross  into  the  Madar  Kheyl  border, 
as  has  been  our  custom,  to  kneel  to  Pir  Saji's 
tomb  ?  The  Madar  men  will  fall  upon  us,  and 
rightly.  But  our  Mullah  is  a  holy  man.  He 
has  helped  two  score  of  us  into  Paradise  this 
night.  Let  him  therefore  accompany  his  flock, 
and  we  will  build  over  his  body  a  dome  of  the 
blue  tiles  of  Mooltan,  and  burn  lamps  at  his 
feet  every  Friday  night.  He  shall  be  a  saint ; 
we  shall  have  a  shrine;  and  there  our  women 
shall  pray  for  fresh  seed  to  fill  the  gaps  in  our 
fighting-tale.     How  think  you?" 

A  grim  chuckle  followed  the  suggestion,  and 
the  soft  wheep,  wheep  of  unscabbarded  knives 
followed  the  chuckle.  It  was  an  excellent 
notion,  and  met  a  long  felt  want  of  the  tribe. 
The  Mullah  sprang  to  his  feet,  glaring  with 
withered  eyeballs  at  the  drawn  death  he  could 
not  see,  and  calling  down  the  curses  of  God 
and  Mahomed  on  the  tribe.  Then  began  a 
game  of  blind  man's  buff  round  and  between 
the  fires,  whereof  Khuruk  Shah,  the  tribal 
poet,  has  sung  in  verse  that  will  not  die. 


3$2  THE  HEAD  OF 

They  tickled  him  gently  under  the  armpit 
with  the  knife-point.  He  leaped  aside  scream- 
ing, only  to  feel  a  cold  blade  drawn  lightly 
over  the  back  of  his  neck,  or  a  rifle-muzzle  rub- 
bing his  beard.  He  called  on  his  adherents  to 
aid  him,  but  most  of  these  lay  dead  on  the 
plains,  for  Khoda  Dad  Khan  had  been  at  some 
pains  to  arrange  their  decease.  Men  described 
to  him  the  glories  of  the  shrine  they  would 
build,  and  the  little  children  clapping  their 
hands  cried,  "Run,  Mullah,  run!  There's  a 
man  behind  you !"  In  the  end,  when  the  sport 
wearied,  Khoda  Dad  Khan's  brother  sent  a 
knife  home  between  his  ribs.  "Wherefore," 
said  Khoda  Dad  Khan  with  charming  sim- 
plicity, "I  am  now  Chief  of  the  Khusru 
Kheyl !"  No  man  gainsaid  him ;  and  they  all 
went  to  sleep  very  stiff  and  sore. 

On  the  plain  below  Tommy  Dodd  was  lec- 
turing on  the  beauties  of  a  cavalry  charge  by 
night,  and  Tallantire,  bowed  on  his  saddle,  was 
gasping  hysterically  because  there  was  a  sword 
dangling  from  his  wrist  flecked  with  the  blood 
of  the  Khusru  Kheyl,  the  tribe  that  Orde  had 
kept  in  leash  so  well.  When  a  Rajpoot  trooper 
pointed  out  that  the  skewbald's  right  ear  had 
been  taken  off  at  the  root,  by  some  blind  slash 
of  its  unskilled  rider,  Tallantire  broke  down 


THE  DISTRICT  333 

altogether,  and  laughed  and  sobbed  till  Tommy 
Dodd  made  him  lie  down  and  rest. 

"We  must  wait  about  till  the  morning," 
said  he.  "I  wired  to  the  Colonel  just  before 
we  left,  to  send  a  wing  of  the  Beshaklis  after 
us.  He'll  be  furious  with  me  for  monopoliz- 
ing the  fun,  though.  Those  beggars  in  the 
hills  won't  give  us  any  more  trouble." 

"Then  tell  the  Beshaklis  to  go  on  and  see 
what  has  happened  to  Curbar  on  the  canal. 
We  must  patrol  the  whole  line  of  the  Border. 
You're  quite  sure,  Tommy,  that — that  stuff 
was — was  only  the  skewbald's  ear  ?" 

"Oh,  quite,"  said  Tommy.  "You  just 
missed  cutting  off  his  head.  /  saw  you  when 
we  went  into  the  mess.     Sleep,  old  man." 

Noon  brought  two  squadrons  of  Beshaklis 
and  a  knot  of  furious  brother  officers  demand- 
ing the  court-martial  of  Tommy  Dodd  for 
"spoiling  the  picnic,"  and  a  gallop  across  coun- 
try to  the  canal-works  where  Ferris,  Curbar, 
and  Hugonin  were  haranguing  the  terror- 
stricken  coolies  on  the  enormity  of  abandoning 
good  work  and  high  pay,  merely  because  half 
a  dozen  of  their  fellows  had  been  cut  down. 
The  sight  of  a  troop  of  the  Beshaklis  restored 
wavering  confidence,  and  the  police-hunted 
section  of  the  Khusru  Kheyl  had  the  joy  of 
watching  the  canal-bank  humming  with  li£@ 


334  THE  HEAD  OF 

as  usual,  while  such  of  their  men  as  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  water-courses  and  ravines  were 
being  driven  out  by  the  troopers.  By  sun- 
down began  the  remorseless  patrol  of  the 
Border  by  police  and  trooper,  most  like  the 
cow-boys'  eternal  ride  round  restless  cattle. 

"Now,"  said  Khoda  Dad  Khan  to  his  fel- 
lows, pointing  out  a  line  of  twinkling  fires 
below,  "ye  may  see  how  far  the  old  order 
changes.  After  their  horse  will  come  the  little 
devil-guns  that  they  can  drag  up  to  the  tops 
of  the  hills,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  to  the 
clouds  when  we  crown  the  hills.  If  the  tribe- 
council  thinks  good,  I  will  go  to  Tallantire 
Sahib — who  loves  me — and  see  if  I  can  stave 
off  at  least  the  blockade.  Do  I  speak  for 
the  tribe?" 

"Ay,  speak  for  the  tribe  in  God's  name. 
How  those  accursed  fires  wink !  Do  the  Eng- 
lish send  their  troops  on  the  wire — or  is  this 
the  work  of  the  Bengali?" 

As  Khoda  Dad  Khan  went  down  the  hill  he 
was  delayed  by  an  interview  with  a  hard- 
pressed  tribesman,  which  caused  him  to  return 
hastily  for  something  he  had  forgotten.  Then, 
handing  himself  over  to  the  two  troopers  who 
had  been  chasing  his  friend,  he  claimed  escort 
to    Tallantire    Sahib,    then  with    Bullows    at 


THE  DISTRICT  335 

Jumala.  The  Border  was  safe,  and  the  time 
for  reasons  in  writing  had  begun. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  said  Bullows,  "that  the 
trouble  came  at  once.  Of  course  we  can 
never  put  down  the  reason  in  black  and  white, 
but  all  India  will  understand.  And  it  is  better 
to  have  a  sharp  short  outbreak  than  five  years 
of  impotent  adminstration  inside  the  Border. 
It  costs  less.  Grish  Chunder  De  has  reported 
himself  sick,  and  has  been  transferred  to  his 
own  province  without  any  sort  of  reprimand. 
He  was  strong  on  not  having  taken  over  the 
district." 

"Of  course,"  said  Tallantire,  bitterly. 
"Well,  what  am  I  supposed  to  have  done  that 
was  wrong?" 

"Oh,  you  will  be  told  that  you  exceeded  all 
your  powers,  and  should  have  reported,  and 
written,  and  advised  for  three  weeks  until  the 
Khusru  Kheyl  could  really  come  down  in 
force.  But  I  don't  think  the  authorities  will 
dare  to  make  a  fuss  about  it.  They've  had 
their  lesson.  Have  you  seen  Curbar's  version 
of  the  affair?  He  can't  write  a  report,  but  he 
can  speak  the  truth." 

"What's  the  use  of  the  truth?  He'd  much 
better  tear  up  the  report.  I'm  sick  and  heart- 
broken over  it  all.  It  was  so  utterly  unneces- 
sary— except  in  that  it  rid  us  of  that  Babu." 


336  THE  HEAD  OF 

Entered  unabashed  Khoda  Dad  Khan,  a 
stuffed  forage-net  in  his  hand,  and  the  troop- 
ers behind  him. 

"May  you  never  be  tired !"  said  he,  cheerily. 
"Well,  Sahibs,  that  was  a  good  fight,  and 
Nairn  Shah's  mother  is  in  debt  to  you,  Tallan- 
tire  Sahib.  A  clean  cut,  they  tell  me,  through 
jaw,  wadded  coat,  and  deep  into  the  collar- 
bone. Well  done!  But  I  speak  for  the  tribe. 
There  has  been  a  fault — a  great  fault.  Thou 
knowest  that  I  and  mine,  Tallantire  Sahib,  kept 
the  oath  we  sware  to  Orde  Sahib  on  the  banks 
of  the  Indus." 

"As  an  Afghan  keeps  his  knife — sharp  on 
one  side,  blunt  on  the  other,"  said  Tallantire. 

"The  better  swing  in  the  blow,  then.  But 
I  speak  God's  truth.  Only  the  Blind  Mullah 
carried  the  young  men  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
and  said  that  there  was  no  more  Border-law 
because  a  Bengali  had  been  sent,  and  we 
need  not  fear  the  English  at  all.  So  they 
came  down  to  avenge  that  insult  and  get  plun- 
der. Ye  know  what  befell,  and  how  far  I 
helped.  Now  five  score  of  us  are  dead  or 
wounded,  and  we  are  all  shamed  and  sorry, 
and  desire  no  further  war.  Moreover,  that 
ye  may  better  listen  to  us,  we  have  taken  off 
the   head   of   the   Blind   Mullah,   whose   evil 


THE  DISTRICT  33Z 

counsels  have  led  us  to  folly.  I  bring  it  for 
proof," — and  he  heaved  on  the  floor  the  head. 
"He  will  give  no  more  trouble,  for  /  am  chief 
now,  and  so  I  sit  in  a  higher  place  at  all  audi- 
ences. Yet  there  is  an  offset  to  this  head. 
That  was  another  fault.  One  of  the  men 
found  that  black  Bengali  beast,  through 
whom  this  trouble  arose,  wandering  on  horse- 
back and  weeping.  Reflecting  that  he  had 
caused  loss  of  much  good  life,  Alia  Dad 
Khan,  whom,  if  you  choose,  I  will  to-morrow 
shoot,  whipped  off  this  head,  and  I  bring  it  to 
you  to  cover  your  shame,  that  ye  may  bury  it. 
See,  no  man  kept  the  spectacles,  though  they 
were  of  gold." 

Slowly  rolled  to  Tallantire's  feet  the  crop- 
haired  head  of  a  spectacled  Bengali  gentle- 
man, opened-eyed,  open-mouthed — the  head 
of  Terror  incarnate.  Bullows  bent  down. 
"Yet  another  blood-fine  and  a  heavy  one, 
Khoda  Dad  Khan,  for  this  is  the  head  of 
Debendra  Nath,  the  man's  brother.  The 
Babu  is  safe  long  since.  All  but  the  fools 
of  the  Khusru  Kheyl  know  that." 

"Well,  I  care  not  for  carrion.  Quick  meat 
for  me.  The  thing  was  under  our  hills  ask- 
ing the  road  to  Jumala  and  Alia  Dad  Khan 
showed  him  the  road  to  Jehannum,  being,  as 


338  THE  HEAD  OF 

thou  sayest,  but  a  fool.  Remains  now  what 
the  Government  will  do  to  us.  As  to  the 
blockade" — 

"Who  art  thou,  seller  of  dog's  flesh,"  thun- 
dered Tallantire,  "to  speak  of  terms  and 
treaties?  Get  hence  to  the  hills — go,  and 
wait  there  starving,  till  it  shall  please  the  Gov- 
ernment to  call  thy  people  out  for  punishment 
— children  and  fools  that  ye  be!  Count  your 
dead,  and  be  still.  Rest  assured  that  the 
Government  will  send  you  a  man!" 

"Ay,"  returned  Khoda  Dad  Khan,  "for  we 
also  be  men." 

As  he  looked  Tallantire  between  the  eyes, 
he  added,  "And  by  God,  Sahib,  may  thou  be 
that  man!" 


14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 

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